


Alchemist Untethered

by maisierita



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, BAMF Levi Ackerman, BAMF Roy Mustang, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 257,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maisierita/pseuds/maisierita
Summary: An alchemical accident transports Roy Mustang into a very different world, where they have man-eating monsters but no other alchemists, and one short, angry, hotheaded soldier named Levi.
Relationships: Levi/Roy Mustang
Comments: 473
Kudos: 388





	1. A Moron in a Bright Blue Coat

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you think to yourself, wouldn't it be fun to drop Roy Mustang into the Attack on Titan world and see what happens? And then 250,000+ words later, here you are. 
> 
> This story is roughly canon-compliant through Dec. 2018 (midway through season 3 of the anime), which is when I started writing it. Back then we knew little or maybe nothing about Marley and the Nine Titans and all of that, so the characters don't know it either.
> 
> Warning: Although the story is written in English, at various points I use German for Roy's native tongue and Dutch for Levi's. I speak neither German nor Dutch and so relied heavily on Google Translate. I undoubtedly have made horrible mistakes and if you happen to speak those languages I apologize. But my goal was not to have Levi and Roy actually speaking Dutch and German; rather I am using those as proxies for two languages closely enough related that a sufficiently assiduous student might learn the foreign one quickly and be able to fumble his way through a conversation in less time that it would actually take someone to learn an entirely unrelated language.
> 
> Thanks as always to my indefatigable beta SapphireMusings, who only started watching AoT because I kept rambling on about it as I was writing this monster.
> 
> This is the longest piece of fiction I have ever attempted. I hope you enjoy it!

He shouldn't be doing this, Roy thinks as he moves farther down into the wreckage of the laboratory. This is stupid. It's potentially suicidal. It's ill-advised, juvenile, rash; a horrible, terrible idea. He should stop, turn around, find his way back to the surface, return tomorrow with reinforcements. That would be the smart thing to do, and he is, generally, a smart man. He is also, admittedly, an occasionally impulsive man, but less so than he was when he was younger and more cocky. Now age and experienced have tempered him, and he is more rational; he thinks before he acts (usually) and he makes the prudent choice (most of the time) and he doesn't run off half-cocked just because he's _bored._

Except apparently, he does, because he is still walking farther down into the dark, the flickering light from his flashlight dimly illuminating the runes carved into the wall. Marks of a madman, probably, but then again, the laboratory is destroyed, and he's still walking farther into it, so who's to say he's not the crazy one? Certainly, there's no good reason outside of presumed insanity for him to have gone on this idiotic venture, other than the threat that endless, monotonous paperwork might actually bore him to death.

 _"For God's sake, when did you get so melodramatic, buddy?"_ he hears in his head, and it stings, hearing that voice today of all days, and that's the real problem, isn't it, if he's being honest? It wasn't boredom that drove him down here, no matter how much he might like to pretend otherwise; it's that work wasn't enough of a distraction, not that it ever is anymore, but especially not today. Bureaucratic tedium is a poor palliative for grief, and grief is what he's trying to slip away from, the grief itself and his frustration that he still can't get over it, or at least get used enough to it to function. It makes him feel weak, hobbled. Today especially, it's crippling. The anniversary of a death shouldn't be so significant, but it feels like it is, two years now and the ache in his chest is still so strong that some days he can hardly breathe around it, and of course the one person he most needs to talk to about it, the one who'd be best able to help him through it, is the one who's gone.

So, he's here. Alone, stubborn and grieving and determined to prove … what? To whom? He doesn't know what he's doing and he doesn't know why he's doing it, but here he is anyway, still moving down into the gloom, farther away from possible rescue if he needs it, and this is so _stupid;_ just because the lab's long deserted doesn't mean it's not still dangerous; just because he hasn't seen any bodies doesn't mean nobody died here, only that there wasn't enough left of them to identify as human.

The Elrics would not approve, Roy thinks, stepping carefully around the splintered remains of what might once have been a desk or a filing cabinet. The Elrics would not approve even if they'd surely understand the impulse. They've done crazy things in the past, crazier than this, but for a worthier cause. Not because they were bored or grief stricken. Not because they'd had some kind of fit, brought on by an innocuous, "Just one more report to sign, sir." Except it's never just one more, and there's a picture of his dead best friend on his desk, and the pain of that loss never goes away no matter how many reports he signs. "Just one more report" and suddenly everything had felt futile, pointless, and he'd been struck with the idea that the only way to make the pain and the endless reports vanish would be to burn down his office with the just-one-more-report and Maes's picture and everything else.

So, he'd left. He'd left before his stupid self-destructive impulses led him to do something dangerous and irreversible. He'd left in a hurry, grabbed his coat, walked out without a word to his staff except for an order for them not to follow him. He'd had to make it an order or Riza would follow him, and that's another part of the problem, maybe, the way she is always just one step behind, a shadow just out of the corner of his eye that he can't shake. He knows it's only out of her concern for him, knows that lately he's been losing it: snapping at everyone, drinking too much, even more than usual, losing his temper too easily. But it's hard to stay even barely functional when he feels like she's always there just waiting for him to fall apart.

Riza knows him best of anyone, anyone still alive that is, and if her expectation is that he is teetering on the edge of oblivion, he probably is. Best to get away from everyone then, he'd thought. His explosions tend to be spectacular, even when they don't involve flame.

He hadn't had any specific destination in mind when he left, just knew that he needed to get away before he did something he'd regret, and then he ended up here, somehow, for some reason he can't quite grasp. It's an old case, a cold case, one Maes was looking into before … before, and there's nobody who cares enough to look into it now, with the wreckage of the lab sealed off and moldering and the alchemist dead or gone into the wind. Dead, probably. The runes on the wall are insane, quite literally; most of the arrays are unworkable, at least according to any branch of alchemy Roy's ever studied. Half of the circles don't even form a complete circuit.

But they're scorched, burnt, like they've been hit with an energy surge too powerful to contain. That's why the case is old and cold and abandoned: It doesn't make sense, and none of the state alchemists ever had enough time or the inclination to focus on what this could all mean, not with the war and then Scar and then the Promised Day. Everyone was too busy just surviving to waste time puzzling out one old musty mystery. Puzzling it out is what he should be doing, Roy thinks. If he really wants to close this case, he should be attacking it slowly and methodically, the way Maes approached everything. Roy should be writing everything down, taking careful notes, trying to figure out which of the circles are complete and functional, figure out which is the one that had caused this disaster, whatever this disaster is; he should not be walking farther and farther into the gloom, so far underground now that his flashlight isn't strong enough to illuminate anything that's not directly in front of him. He should not be forging on ahead when he hadn't even told anyone where he'd gone. Forget the scorched circles; the place is filled with debris: he could trip and break a leg and then he'd probably die here anyway because no one would know to come to look for him. He doesn't want to die down here. He's depressed but he's not suicidal.

Of course, it's at that moment, just at that instant, right when he's thinking about tripping and breaking his leg, that he actually does trip, stumbles over some broken piece of something and crashes into a broken piece of something else. He loses his balance, his flashlight goes flying, and he hits the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

"Idiot," he says into the darkness a moment later when his breath has returned enough to speak. The room is pitch black and he's totally disoriented and his head hurts. He rubs his finger against the worst of the pain, and it comes away tacky. He's bleeding. Fantastic. He's going to have to show up to work tomorrow with a bandage, or worse, stitches, and Riza is going to ream him out for being reckless, and he'll just have to take it because she'll be right.

He knows he's reckless. Honestly, he doesn't know why she persists in telling him. Hearing her say it has never made a goddamn bit of difference before and it's unlikely to start now.

Well, he'll worry about that tomorrow. First, he needs to get out of this hellhole. He feels around the filthy floor trying to find his flashlight, with no success. He thinks he hears _things_ rustling around in the dark.

"It's probably just rats," he tells himself out loud, even though that's not comforting at all. Rats disgust him, always have; they're dirty and disease-ridden and they bite. He hears scuttling nearby and his heart jumps, pulse hammering in his throat, and thank god nobody's there to hear the sound he makes when something brushes against his fingers. Maybe that's why there aren't any bodies, he's thinks, just a little bit hysterical; maybe all the remains got eaten by giant man-eating rats.

He swallows, breathes, and counts to ten, waits until his pulse slows. There is no such thing as a giant man-eating rat, and even if there were such a thing, Roy's faced worse and come out alive. He breathes again, sucking musty air into his lungs, and rises to his feet, pulling on his ignition gloves. He wouldn't risk a large flame down here, because who knows what chemicals are lying around, but a small flare should be safe, a quick burst, just long enough to find the flashlight so he can get the hell up and out.

Roy raises his hand and gathers the transmutation energy to light a flame, but he knows the second he starts that he's made a horrible mistake, maybe his last horrible mistake after a lifetime of them, because the energy doesn't light up the circle on his glove like it should; instead it starts tracing out an enormous transmutation circle around his feet. _Oh shit_ , he thinks dimly, and tries to shut the transmutation down, but he can't; the energy's flowing through him like he's some kind of conduit and he can't stop it no matter how hard he tries. The circle blazing at his feet is foreign, entirely alien, unfamiliar sigils scratched messily into the ground, angles all disjointed and impossible and greasy and _wrong._ Roy has just enough time to think, "Riza is going to kill me," before the circuit completes. Energy surges wildly over and into and through him, and the world explodes into starbursts of light and cacophonies of sound that bludgeon him brutally into the dark.

* * *

It's early morning when the sky ignites. Levi's refilling his gas tanks when it happens, so he doesn't see the flare of light, only hears people shouting a moment before some kind of energy wave tears through the castle ruins where they're camping, ruffling grass and plants and hair in its wake. It doesn't hurt but it feels weird as fuck and makes him momentarily dizzy. The horses all rear and shy, whinnying in dismay.

"What the fuck?" Levi says, hands already on his swords, but other than the distressed horses, nobody seems to be hurt or even affected. Erwin's already striding around checking on people, calm and collected, all hairs perfectly in place ... _of course,_ Levi thinks; Erwin didn't get ruffled even when he was getting chewed on by a Titan.

Eren pops up at his side from wherever it is he is always lurking. He is wide-eyed and jittery, like a spooked horse. "What was that?"

Levi resists the urge to roll his eyes and doesn't bother answering. It's not the brat's fault he's still so young, and the question wasn't as stupid as it sounded. Eren hasn't been around long enough to know when the Corps is running across something for the first time. Levi's just got no patience for him, which is irksome because he can't quite put his finger on why. Not that Levi has a lot of patience for anyone, kids less than most people, but with Eren, Levi's patience is even slimmer than usual.

Hange has pulled out a small telescope and is scanning the surroundings with fascination. "It came from the south side of the forest."

Levi grunts, tired and grumpy. They've been camping out for two nights, and all he wants is to get back home. He doesn't sleep well on the best of days, and less so when he's lying on a thin bedroll surrounded by a few dozen people snoring and rustling and breathing. He is a few hours ride away from a properly brewed cup of tea and a chance to bathe off the expedition grime. "An explosion?'

"Don't think so," Hange says. "There was plenty of light, but no sound. And that shockwave was strange. I could hardly even feel it."

Levi had felt it plenty, but that doesn't seem like a useful fact to share, especially seeing as how sharing is likely to get him a compulsory invitation to Hange's lab.

Eren is peering into the distance as if he could see something if he squints hard enough. "If it was an explosion, there are probably humans out there. Titans don't use explosives."

"Probably bandits," Levi says. "Stumbled onto some kind of relic, maybe." And got blown up, which would be well-deserved.

"Could be Titans," Hange says. "Abnormals. We don't know what they can or can't do."

 _That's all we need_ , Levi thinks. Titans using explosives. As if they can't slaughter enough people with just their fists and teeth.

Erwin appears from nowhere as if by magic. It's goddamn creepy when he does that. Wordlessly, Hange hands him the telescope. Erwin adjusts his grip on the barrel so that he can hold it to his eye with just the one hand, then gives it back after a few moments of silent scrutiny. "What do you think it was?"

Hange has no idea, and says so.

"Maybe abnormals," Eren suggests.

Levi glares at him, tries to telegraph, _Why are you still here?_ but Eren seems oblivious. "Or an explosion. It felt strange."

"Strange how?" Hange is staring at Eren now with a familiar look of fascination that doesn't bode well for Eren's immediate future. "Maybe it's something to do with your Titan form."

Eren is annoying but not entirely oblivious, and apprehension starts to sleep slow and steady into his expression. "Maybe? Um, I don't know." He turns to Levi and Erwin, now slightly desperate. "Didn't it feel strange to you?"

"No," Erwin says, and Levi lies and says "no" too, not to be a shit — at least, not entirely — but because he'd rather have Hange's somewhat ghoulish attention focused entirely on Eren. He feels vindicated in his deception when Hange grabs Eren by the arm and drags him off, murmuring something about field equipment and running tests before the effects dissipate.

Erwin is unfazed by Hange's abrupt departure, but then again, they've been working together a long time. "Go check it out," he says to Levi, tone brisk. "Take your squad. Send up a flare when you've figured it out."

There's almost nothing Levi wants to do less in the world than ride back out towards the forest and away from the city and his bed and his tea and his bath. But as miserable as he is after three days outside of the walls, everyone else is more miserable still. "Let me go myself."

Erwin spins on his heel to stare at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Everyone's fucking exhausted," Levi says. "Look at them. They've been riding for days. They've hardly slept. You can't ask them to go ride into what may be another fight. With abnormals, possibly."

"You've hardly slept either," Erwin points out, in the tone of one stating the patently obvious.

"I don't need much sleep," Levi replies, in the same tone of voice, because he _doesn't_ need much sleep and Erwin fucking knows it.

Erwin frowns at Levi skeptically. "You haven't slept in two days. Even you need more rest than that."

Levi crosses his arms and settles into his stubborn stance, resisting with heroic effort the urge to say tell Erwin to fuck off and squashing down the vague discomfort that Erwin knows exactly how little Levi has slept and is maybe slightly more rational about the consequences. "I'll be fine. I'll be fast. Taking anyone else is just going to slow me down."

Erwin does not look particularly convinced. "Your squad are all good riders. If you have to engage with any Titans—"

"I'm not going to engage with any Titans. It'll just be reconnaissance."

Erwin's jaw sets. He is one of the few people Levi knows who can be just as stubborn as Levi. It's profoundly irritating. "I don't like it."

Erwin doesn't like anything Levi suggests, ever. Disliking Levi's suggestions is Erwin's default position. "You don't have to like it. You just have to agree to it. We've lost 20 people in three days—"

"—18," Erwin mutters. His jaw tics.

"—we can't risk losing any more. The sun will be up soon. Send everyone else home before the Titans start moving and let me go check it out. I'll still have time to get back to Trost before the sun sets."

Erwin stares at him for a moment, mouth set into a thin, disapproving line, then he shakes his head. "No. It's too risky. At least take Hange's squad with you. They've got more experience than yours and they won't slow you down."

Levi swears. "Sending ten of us is worse than sending one. The more of us ride together, the greater the chance Titans will smell us and attack. If it's just me, they probably won't even notice."

Erwin is wearing his stubborn face, which is pretty much his face all the time. "I am not going to send you out there alone."

"You're not sending me. I'm sending me." Levi puts on his own stubborn face. It's better than Erwin's.

Erwin sighs, loudly and with feeling. "Fine. We'll wait here for you."

"For fuck's sake, have you lost your goddamn mind? Take them back to Trost! How many people do we have left who can even see straight right now? How many aren't injured? With those carts, if you wait for me to go out and come back, it'll be too late to get back behind the walls tonight. I'll go and look around, stay the hell away from any Titans, and come back to the city and report. If there's anything to worry about, you can send a fresh crew out tomorrow."

Erwin is stewing, but about to yield. Levi can tell by the way his eyebrow is twitching. "You'll send a flare when you find something."

Levi exhales. Nods. If he has to send up a flare the only thing the Corps will be able to do is come back tomorrow and collect the pieces of his body, but still. It's a win. "Thank you."

Erwin places his hand on Levi's shoulder and stares down at him. "Don't fuck this up, Ackerman."

Levi flinches. Ackerman's been a curse word as long as Levi's been alive; it's a low blow to call him that, even if Erwin didn't mean it that way. Even if it's true. Even if it fits. "I don't fuck things up."

Erwin considerately lets that lie slide. "Make sure you don't. And for god's sake, don't be a hero."

"You should know me better than that. Thank you, Commander."

"Don't thank me for sending you on a suicide mission, you stubborn son of a bitch."

Erwin's always pissy when he loses. Levi doesn't take it personally. He hits the head, straps on his gear and sets out, riding swiftly, swallowing down a surge of anxiety that hits as soon as the camp's out of sight behind him. The last time he rode out alone, he lost everything that mattered to him. But this is different. This time, the others will be safer if they stay behind. Erwin's a prick but he's a good commander; Erwin will make sure everyone gets back inside the walls. Levi isn't concerned about his own safety — he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't planning to engage, and he can handle a few Titans if he absolutely needs to. Erwin and Hange will take care of everyone else.

The miles pass by in a blur. Levi's feeling jittery and pushes his horse hard. It's more than just regular Titan anxiety; it's like the shockwave infected him somehow. His spine buzzes, like an itch he can't scratch. Levi twitches in his seat and urges his horse forward even faster.

An hour passes like this, Levi racing to outrun a gnawing sense of worry. The plain is wide and grassy, with little cover and nothing to anchor his ODM gear if he needs to. Isabel and Farlan died in surroundings like this. On a plain just like this, because he'd left them behind, because he wasn't fast enough to save them … he growls, irritated, and pushes the thought away. It's pointless. No regrets, Erwin told him once. Don't let your past rule your future. It's possibly the best piece of advice Levi's ever received. Levi's shit at following it, but he tries.

The wind is gusty and unpleasant with no trees to break it. Levi leans into it, pushing forward. The horse is restless beneath him but is too well trained to turn aside.

Ahead, he can see the epicenter of the explosion or whatever the hell it was, a huge circle of flattened grass. In the center there's a smear of color, bright blue against the dull gray-green of the grass. Levi's too far away to make out what it is, but it's artificial, whatever it is. There's nothing in nature of that color. It doesn't look like a Titan, at least, or else it's the smallest fucking Titan Levi's ever seen.

As they draw closer to the circle, Levi's horse suddenly shies and whinnies frantically. Levi swivels around and spots half a dozen Titans converging from the left and another half dozen from the right. Cursing, Levi spares himself half a minute to regret every decision in life that brought him to this time and place. Things were easier in the Underground: people died all the time, from starvation, neglect, illness, from getting beaten to death by thugs or the military police, but they didn't get bitten in half. They didn't end up dismembered corpses in a grassy meadow. He's good, and he's strong, and he's fast, but he's still just one man running on fumes, and it would take only one punch from a giant Titan fist to end him. _Don't be a hero_ , Erwin had told him. Levi hadn't intended to, but he hadn't been expecting a dozen Titans.

"This is a goddamn clusterfuck," he tells his horse. The horse doesn't answer.

Levi briefly considers turning tail and running. The Titans don't seem to have noticed him, and surely Erwin would prefer that Levi return with no information over Levi not returning at all. But then the decision is taken out of his hands when the blue blob in the center of the circle shifts, rolls over, and staggers to its feet.

Levi stares, dumbfounded. "It's a person," Levi tells his horse, who remains obstinately silent. "What the fuck."

The improbable person is draped in the most impractical coat Levi's ever seen, with a great big skirt billowing around his legs, a huge swath of excess fabric to trip over or get plucked up by a Titan with. The garish blue is the opposite of camouflage. The coat is practically screaming, "eat me!" The man's got his hand to his head, and he's listing slightly, staggering around in circles, dazed and apparently oblivious to any danger.

The Titans are not as oblivious. Though they've been ignoring Levi in their headlong rush to get into the circle, three of them are heading straight toward the stranger, who has finally noticed them. He stares at them, mouth agape, and thrusts one arm out in front of him as if that'd be enough to fight them off.

Levi fights down a surge of irritation as he kicks his heels to push his horse forward. He's just out of range. "Run, you idiot!" he yells, but it's too late; a fourth Titan has swept in from behind and plucked the man off the ground, holding him by the dumb skirt, and now there is hardly any time at all. It wouldn't be enough time for anyone else, not even Mikasa, who is fierce and fast but not as fast as Levi. No one's as fast as Levi, especially not when he's motivated, and he is very motivated now. He couldn't save Isabel and he couldn't save Farlan; in the years since they died there have been scores more he couldn't save, but today he can save one moron in a bright blue coat.

Energy floods Levi's body as he rises to his feet in his saddle; liquid electricity in his veins, lighting every nerve on fire. For a moment it's overwhelming, almost too strong to tolerate. He roars. He's dying; he's reborn; he feels superhuman. The world slows down to a crawl, the air's gelid around him, crystalline. _Move,_ he commands himself, and his body responds obediently, sending the ODM gear soaring towards the Titan with no conscious direction on his part.

Levi hurls himself up into the air before he's even felt the bolts sink home, maneuvering through space, coasting on gas and wind and a heady rush of power. He lands on the beast's shoulders while the Titan still has the man dangling over its mouth. At least the idiot is showing sense enough to struggle, for all the good it will do him now. It's okay; Levi's moving at the speed of thought, and everything else around him is happening at half-speed. He leaps and twists and slashes with his sword. It's so easy to kill when he's like this, flying like he's on the best shit they sell to the junkies in the Underground. His sword slices cleanly into Titan's nape and he jumps into the air and out of the way of the spurt of foul blood, twisting around in one smooth movement to catch the flailing man who drops from the Titan's suddenly lax fingers.

The jolt of collision makes time speed up again, and then it's a struggle to react quickly enough, especially weighted down by the other man's bulk. Levi releases his anchors as the Titan hits the ground, rolling with the impact, keeping hold of the stupid skirt of the dumb coat. He lurches to his feet, swords at the ready, but the other Titans are reacting slowly, confused, stumbling around the circle like they're looking for something but don't know what.

The stranger is lying on his back, blinking, looking dazed. "Get the fuck UP," Levi says, and reaches down to pull the man to his feet — no easy job; the guy's got at least 10 centimeters and a good 15 kilos on Levi, 10 of which are probably that stupid coat — but Levi's a lot stronger than he looks, and he's still got adrenaline and power swirling in his veins.

"Come on," he says, pulling the guy after him and breaking into a run. The Titans are largely ignoring them, which is strange but not unwelcome. "I hope you know how to ride a horse."

The stranger may be an idiot but he's not entirely lacking in common sense; he follows Levi without even looking back at the Titans, and doesn't hesitate to mount Levi's horse behind Levi, wrapping his arms familiarly around Levi's waist and muttering something urgent Levi doesn't catch.

"Hold on tight," Levi says, and kicks his horse forward into a gallop. The Titans remain oblivious but Levi doesn't relax or slow the horse down until they're miles away, having passed another dozen Titans on the way, all equally uninterested in them, single-mindedly moving towards the circle in the grass. Levi belatedly remembers to shoot off a green flare. A moment later there's an answering flare, NOT from as far west as it ought to be if everyone had been moving towards Trost. Fucking Erwin, Levi thinks. Must have left people at the castle. Could the man not _for once_ just do as he was told?

Levi fumes the whole way back to camp. He doesn't bother trying to talk to the idiot in the blue coat, who seems wholly concerned in any event with staying seated on the horse, which probably isn't easy or comfortable without a saddle.

They arrive at the ruined castle while the sun's still climbing. It's only mid-morning, Levi realizes, dully shocked. It seems like a very long time since the explosion-that-wasn't. Levi hops lithely off his horse, then holds out a hand to help the guy down. "You all right?"

The man takes his hand for the dismount, but when he's on the ground he just stares at Levi mutely for a moment, wide, dark gaze darting around the ruins before returning to land squarely on Levi. His gaze is sharp and intelligent. His words, when he speaks, are nonsense. " _Wer bist du_?" he asks incomprehensibly.

Levi stares back. "Huh?"

" _Wer bist du?"_ the guy repeats. He looks wary, Levi thinks, but not afraid. A little freaked out, maybe, but also taking in every detail of their fortifications, such as they are. " _Wo bin ich_?"

That's an almost understandable 'where am I?' but the guy's accent is thick and strange, and Levi's at a loss how to answer anyway. They're somewhere outside of Trost. He could say that, but he has a sinking feeling that's not going to be helpful. He is saved from having to respond by Hange's approach.

Hange eyes the stranger, eyes glinting with fascination. "Who's this?"

"I found him in the blast circle," Levi says. He does not mention the fact that Hange's entire squad is supposed to be halfway to Trost already.

" _In_ the circle," Hange repeats intently, gaze turning to the man. "Did you cause the explosion?"

The man stares back at them in consternation, one neatly groomed eyebrow arching up. " _Was …?"_ he says, then shrugs helplessly. " _Ich verstehe nicht._ "

"What's he saying?" Hange asks Levi.

"How the fuck should I know?"

The guy frowns at them, brow wrinkled. " _Sie sprechen kein amestrisch_?" He waits a moment, gaze flickering between them, then adds, " _Nein? Ahm_ , _parli aerugano_?" He pauses, frown deepening when he gets no answer. He hums then, a discontented rumble low in his throat. " _A ty govorish po drachmiki?"_ Pause. " _Et midaberet ishvali?"_ It's all complete gibberish to Levi and doesn't seem to make any more sense to Hange. " _Scheisse_ ," the man says grumpily, apparently out of words to try. Instead, he sits down on a nearby rock, pulls off his left boot and shakes out a pebble.

"Well," Levi says, crossing his arms across his chest and walking with Hange a few paces away while the man tugs his boot back on. His socks are a deep black with fancy gold thread at the toe. Levi's socks are dull grey and threadbare. "I think it's safe to say he's not from around here."

"No," Hange says, practically salivating. "Do you think he has Titan powers?"

Levi has no idea why Hange thinks Levi could have figured that out in a couple of hours. Annie and Bertholdt and Reiner lived with the Corps for years and nobody had ever guessed they weren't entirely human. Still, his gut tells him no. "Doubt it. He was unconscious when I got there, and a Titan almost ate him."

"That proves nothing," Hange says. "We know regular Titans will eat humans with Titan powers. They don't seem to be able to identify human Titans any better than we can."

"He had plenty of time to turn into a Titan to save himself before I took down the one trying to eat him," Levi says. "He didn't."

Hange doesn't look convinced. "Maybe he didn't need to once you showed up. Maybe that was his plan all along."

"Fucking stupid plan if so," Levi says, "He couldn't have known anyone was going to come. If I got there five minutes later, he'd have been guts and gore. And this was out in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing there. Just him and a big flattened circle of dead grass. And then a lot of Titans who wanted in."

That pricks Hange's curiosity. "Why? What's so special about the circle? That's where the explosion happened, you think?"

"I think so," Levi says. "I didn't stick around to find out if there was anything else special about it. There were a dozen Titans there and more coming. I wasn't going to wait for them to decide we were more interesting than the circle after all. I promised Erwin I wouldn't engage them if I didn't have to."

Hange sighs sadly. "I can't believe you convinced Erwin to let you go alone. I would have loved to see that circle."

"I can't believe Erwin left you here to wait for me after he explicitly promised he wouldn't."

Hange blinks at him, grinning. "You can't?"

Actually, Levi can. It's just irritating.

"You can rest for a bit," Hange says. "You're back earlier than I expected, and not even injured. You're _not_ injured, are you?"

"No," Levi says. The usual bumps and scrapes aren't worth mentioning. They'll heal quickly enough anyway.

"How about him?"

"Cut on his head, but I don't think it's serious. He didn't lose consciousness again and he's not bleeding."

"Good. I'll be taking some more readings for a little while. You should get some rest. You look like you're about to collapse. Lock him up until we leave."

Levi frowns. "Seems a little extreme. I don't think he's going to turn into a Titan. Any one of us could probably take him."

"Maybe," Hange says. "But that's a chance I'm not willing to take. Even if he's not a Titan, he was out there all alone. How'd he get there? Did he cause the explosion? Did he make that circle you saw? If so, why? If he didn't, what was he doing there? Why were the Titans trying to get there, and why'd they ignore you after you rescued him? Are you absolutely sure he's no threat?"

Levi thinks everyone's a threat until proven otherwise and doesn't relax his guard even then. "No."

"Then we should keep him contained until we can be certain. You know Erwin would."

Erwin would probably clap the guy in chains.

"There are a bunch of old cells down the staircase. A couple of them have working locks. Pick one of them." Hange grins manically, pats Levi on the shoulder, and heads to the parapets where Dirk's keeping watch.

Levi sighs, feeling aggrieved, but it's hard to argue with Hange's logic. It's hard to argue with Hange, period. Levi takes a few steps to the man, who's back on his feet and gazing around with a wide, curious gaze. "Now's your chance to protest, if you understood any of that."

The guy just stands there, brow slightly furrowed. Then he shrugs. " _Entschuldigung, aber ich verstehe immer noch kein wort das sie sagen_."

"Right," Levi says blankly. He jerks his head toward the castle. "Come on."

He starts walking forward, and the guy follows after a moment, taking a few quick steps to catch up. "Come?" he repeats carefully. " _Komm_?"

"Yeah," Levi says. "Come."

"Come," the man repeats. He takes a few steps in silence, chewing at his lip for a moment. Then he taps at his chest and says clearly, " _Mein name est Roy._ "

Well, that was almost entirely comprehensible, even if the accent was strange. Levi taps his own chest and says, "Levi."

"Levi," the guy — Roy — repeats with a nod and a little smile that looks more genuine than polite, not that Levi is especially skilled at reading social cues, smiles in particular.

"This way," Levi says, heading toward the castle. Roy looks at the crumbling stone masonry with sensible apprehension but follows after only a moment of hesitation.

While they walk, Roy's gaze darts around to anything and everything, and Levi uses the opportunity to examine him a little more closely. Roy's wearing gloves, Levi notices for the first time, pristine white but for a strange symbol stitched in red on the back of each, some kind of rune that strikes Levi as more than decorative and slightly ominous. His coat flows with his movements as he walks, heavy and tailor-made, high quality cloth. Levi realizes that the skirt thing is not attached to the jacket after all but is belted around his waist, a separate piece of fabric whose purpose is obscure. Maybe it's just decorative. He has a gold braid on one shoulder, decorations on his left breast, epaulets on his collar … it's a military uniform, Levi realizes abruptly. It's a uniform from an army Levi's never heard of. What the hell, Levi thinks, suddenly uneasy. Where the fuck did this guy come from?

Levi leads Roy into the castle and down the stairs, past a few storage closets and other unidentifiable rooms, to a set of doors with bars on the windows. Roy's footsteps falter momentarily when Levi swings open the door into one of the cells, but he doesn't say anything; he just steps inside, looking around the tiny room. There's a privy hole dug out in one corner and a messy mound of hay in another; somebody's slept here somewhat recently at least. Two expressions flash across his face in quick succession: bemusement or disbelief, then resignation. His look at Levi is a little grumpy and accusatory.

"Sorry," Levi says with a shrug. "It's not up to me. Um. You have any weapons? A gun? Knives?"

Roy blinks once, then twice. His brow crinkles before comprehension seeps slowly into his eyes. A strange expression creeps across his face: He looks taken aback, almost baffled. Then he says slowly, " _Nein. Keine waffen_." He raises an eyebrow and pulls his pockets inside out.

Levi knows he should really search him, but if Roy was going to stab him in the back, he had the perfect opportunity on the ride back to the camp, and if he is hiding a weapon somewhere in that ridiculous coat and those big baggy pants, well … then fine. Hange just said to lock him up, not to do a strip search. If Roy's going to turn into a Titan, a knife or a gun will be the least of their problems, and if he's a human, what's he going to do, locked in an empty room by himself, weapon or no?

"We'll come get you in a couple of hours," Levi says. He nods at the mound of hay in the corner. "Get some rest. It'll be a long ride back to Trost."

Roy doesn't look like he understood a single word, but he does walk over to the hay and nudge it with his toe, checking for rats, maybe. He grimaces, then takes off his stupid big blue coat and lays it down over the hay. Underneath the coat he's wearing a crisp white shirt with strange shiny clear buttons. Even though it's dusty at the cuffs and sweat-stained under the arms, the shirt looks more expensive than any article of clothing Levi owns.

Roy looks around the small room again. " _Keine bücher_?" he asks wryly.

"No books," Levi guesses, feeling momentarily guilty, which is ridiculous, especially since Roy could obviously not read any of theirs even if Levi had any to offer. Still … "Sorry. It'll only be a few hours."

Roy just stares at him, brow furrowed, and Levi sighs and lets himself out of the room. "Levi," Roy says through the window in the cell door. " _Danke für die rettung meines lebens._ "

Levi has no idea what that means — too many words strung together too quickly. It just makes him feel stupidly guilty again, as if it's somehow his fault he doesn't speak Roy's language, rather than the other way around. He says "sorry" again, and deadbolts the door behind him. Then he stands outside in the hallway for a couple of minutes, peering through one of the spy holes built into the wall, looking for what, he doesn't know.

If Roy suspects he's being watched he doesn't show it, or else he doesn't care. He checks out the cell more thoroughly but doesn't seem to find anything of interest. He makes use of the privy hole and sits down on the pile of hay, careful only to touch his coat, nose wrinkling in apparent distaste at the state of the bedding. (Levi sympathizes.) Roy runs his hands through his hair, achieving nothing but to make it messier, and rubs at his neck for a little while, massaging the base with a wince. Then he sighs and flops down backward on the makeshift mattress, throwing one arm over his eyes.

Roy mutters something exasperated into the empty cell. Levi is still no linguist, and he's never been one for gambling, but if he had to put money on it, he'd guess it was something like, "What the fuck is going on?"

 _Good question_ , Levi thinks as he walks away and moves soundlessly up the stairs _._ There's a small well in the center of the ruins. Levi pulls up a bucket of water and washes as much dirt off himself as he can, then grabs a package of rations from his pack and finds a spot in the shade to eat. The meal is an unidentifiable salt-laden brown glob and a piece of bread that's hard as a rock, but years of eating Corps food has deadened his gag reflex enough that he can swallow.

He nonetheless eats quickly to avoid prolonging the experience. Just because he can force himself to choke down the shitty food doesn't mean he enjoys it. He then spends a little while picking crumbs off his uniform, slowly and methodically, the action mindless and soothing. When he's done, he settles down on the ground and lets his eyes drift close, resting. He's so tired. Next time Erwin tells him he wants to mount a multi-day expedition, Levi is going to tell him to go fuck himself.

Time drifts away from him lazily. He's not asleep but he's not quite awake either, and that's better than he gets most nights. All too soon, though, he hears the crunch of footsteps over the dirty ground. Levi sighs and sits up to see Hange approaching.

Hange doesn't seem concerned to have interrupted Levi's not-quite-a-nap. "Any trouble with the prisoner?"

"His name's Roy," Levi says. "And no."

"He didn't fight back at all?" Hange looks almost disappointed.

"No." Roy had gone into the cell without protest, though there was still that strange look he'd given Levi. Something about it is niggling at Levi's brain. It isn't like Roy had been offended or even upset at being locked up, even though most people would have been one or the other. No, it's something else. Like he'd been genuinely surprised _,_ and not because Levi didn't trust him, because only a fool would trust a complete stranger. It was like he couldn't understand why Levi was even _bothering_.

Levi wants to know what was behind that look. He wants to know a lot of things. He wants to know who the hell Roy is, and where the fuck he came from, and how he ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere, and why Roy is so calm about it all. And also, what the hell is up with that goddamn coat.

"Did he say anything?" Hange asks.

Levi shrugs. "Yeah. Couldn't understand most of it. He might have asked for a book. I think he was joking, though. Kinda hard to tell."

Hange looks pensive, maybe a little grumpy. "It's going to be difficult to interrogate him if we can't understand him."

'Interrogate,' in Hange-speak usually means 'torture.' Ordinarily, Levi wouldn't give a shit. He's not especially averse to torture, but he's hoping it doesn't come to that this time. Somehow the thought of torturing Roy sits badly with him. Maybe it's the way Roy acceded so easily to being locked up: he could have resisted but chose not to, as if he recognized the reasoning behind it, even if it meant getting locked into a smelly little room with moldy old straw and nothing to do.

"I need some water," Levi says, mostly to get away from Hange, who is still pondering how best to interrogate — torture — Roy, but also because he hasn't had anything to drink all day and the lunch rations were fucking salty. It occurs to him that he should bring some water to Roy, who pisses like a regular human and so probably needs water like a regular human too. The ride back to camp was long and hot. Yeah, he thinks, wandering over to their water kegs, he should probably make sure Roy gets some water, at least before they start the ride back. Roy would probably appreciate some food too, though all they have are the horrible salty rations, so maybe not so much.

"Titans!" Dirk yells, from up atop the parapets, and all thoughts of water flee from Levi's head as he launches himself up to Dirk's position in a fluid, automatic motion.

"I count fifteen," Dirk says, voice a little high-pitched in panic. "More in the distance; I can't be sure how many." He's got a flare gun out and shoots off a red flare without waiting to be told.

"Fuck," Levi says. He retracts his ODM clips and checks his blades. He hasn't cleaned them off or sharpened them since he got back with Roy. Goddamn fucking _sloppy_. "How many are we?"

"Twelve. And we're all running on no sleep. We're fucked, Levi."

"We're not fucked," Levi lies. They are fucked. He could take out a dozen by himself on a good day, even on an average day, but this day is not good or average. They're all exhausted and aching.

"Damn," Hange says, landing lightly next to Levi, Lydia and Gregor and Mike an instant behind. "Damn, that's a lot of Titans. Do you think Roy called them here?"

Levi stares, suspicion coiling uneasily in his belly. "I don't think so. How could he have?"

Hange shrugs. "Who knows? We don't know anything about him, do we? Only that you found him in the middle of a group of Titans. And you brought him back here and now there are more Titans attacking. Most obvious conclusion is that he contacted them."

Levi would rather not believe it. Roy is strange and foreign, but when Levi had asked him for weapons he'd been befuddled, not smug. Not like he might have been, if he'd known he could call Titans to him or had already done so. He'd asked for a book and wrinkled his nose at the smelly straw and muttered unhappily under his breath, and Levi can't believe he'd have led Titans here. "Maybe they just followed him here."

Hange scowls. "That's not really any better."

On one hand, practically speaking it's true that Titans following Roy is not any better than Roy calling Titans, because either way they're inundated with Titans, but on the other hand, Levi would still feel better about it if Roy hadn't set them up deliberately to be slaughtered. People often sucked — Exhibit A: Kenny; Exhibits B, C and D: Annie and Bertholdt and Reiner — but Roy wasn't … Roy hadn't … Levi had _liked_ him; fine, he's admitted it in the privacy of his own head. Levi generally hates people on sight, and closer acquaintance doesn't usually change his opinion much. But Roy had mostly just interested Levi, not provoked any kind of violent urges, and that's rare enough that Levi hopes it's his instincts telling him something useful, that Roy's a good guy, that Roy can be trusted.

Even though Levi never trusts anybody.

"I don't think it matters whether he called them here or they just followed him," Levi says, pulling his blades out to clean off the dirt as best as he can. "We're going to have to deal with them either way."

Hange frowns, expression hardening into one that's battle-ready. "Right. Well, I wasn't planning on dying today, and I'd prefer it if none of you did either. Don't be stupid. Wait for my mark."

Everyone nods tensely, and their mood shifts, becomes tense and anticipatory. They aren't all the best fighters, but they're strong and sharp and uninjured, veteran Corps members who won't panic when they see a Titan up close.

Hange waits until the Titans are close enough that their maneuverability will be hampered before signaling them to go, and they launch into action. Levi loses himself to battle-haze, adrenaline pumping, power searing his veins. It's easy at first, the Titans fall like toy soldiers under Levi's blade, and the other Corps members are holding their own, their blades flashing in the sunlight.

But the Titans keep coming, and everyone is tired.

Levi hears a scream and turns to see Lydia dangling from a Titan's mouth, her left arm clenched between its teeth. Levi clutches at his maneuvering gear hard and jerks to the left, the midair course correction stealing his breath like a punch to the gut, but he lands on the Titan's shoulder and slices into its neck, a deep and vicious cut.

The beast bellows and Lydia slips out from its jaw to land hard on the ground. Mike's there in the next instant, hoisting her up and taking off for the relative protection of the parapet.

Levi's not sure whether Lydia survived. A fall from a Titan's mouth can be deadly, depending on the landing, but it hadn't looked like Lydia had broken her neck so she might still be alive. Either way, Levi can't do anything about it now, and there are still more Titans heading for them.

Levi stretches, releases his anchors, and shoots off towards his next target.

After what seems like a very long time, but is probably 10 minutes, they regroup on the parapet to catch their breath and take stock. Lydia is very much alive, sitting against a wall and clutching her arm. It looks mangled. She'll probably have permanent damage, but Levi thinks she'll keep it, assuming they survive. It will be tougher now. Lydia's out of commission and Gregor is massaging his ankle, grimacing, which doesn't bode well. Hange looks grim, staring down at the seething horde of Titans on the ground below.

There are two human bodies in bloody pieces on the ground. Levi is fast, but he cannot be everywhere at once, and the Titans keep coming.

"We're not going to last until sunset," Mike says. He sounds exhausted and defeated.

"The Corps might come back," Dirk says. "I sent a flare."

"The Corps is back inside the walls by now," Levi says flatly. "Erwin wouldn't send them back out, if they even noticed the flare."

"They might not be able to knock down the castle walls," Dirk suggests half-heartedly. "There aren't any abnormals, and these seem to be an especially stupid bunch. I mean, look at them; half of them are just wandering around in circles."

Mike grins ghoulishly, blood from a split lip staining his teeth red. "Maybe they're just waiting for lunch."

Dirk gives him the finger, then turns to peer listlessly over the edge of the parapet. After a moment, he sits up straight, rubs at his eyes, then points down at the ground. "Um," he says. "Levi. Is that the guy you brought back this morning?"

"What?" Levi leans over and stares down. The big blue coat is unmistakable. Roy is out of the castle and down on the ground, and he is not running in the opposite direction of the Titans, either. "The fuck," Levi says, pissed, but also feeling guilty, because they'd left him in a cell like bait in a trap.

Hange turns to stare at him. "I told you to lock him in."

"I did. With a deadbolt."

"Then how did he get out?" Hange asks, and if it was anyone else, it'd be an accusation, but coming from Hange, it's probably simple curiosity.

"Turned himself into a bat and flew out," Levi says, just to be a shit. "We'll ask him later, if he doesn't get eaten." If they don't all get eaten, that is.

"Shit, he's heading right toward them," Dirk says, horrified.

"Maybe he _did_ call them here," Hange says.

Maybe he did, Levi thinks; it's the only thing that makes sense, because Roy might have broken out of a locked room if he heard the Titans coming — Levi certainly would have — but he's unarmed and trapped down on the ground. Why would he be heading _toward_ the Titans, not away from them, unless he knows they're not a threat to him?

But it doesn't look they're not a threat to him; it looks like the exact opposite: their huge vapid stares are all trained on him, grinning from ear to ear with teeth on full display, and they sure as hell look like they're planning on eating him.

In which case Roy's just an idiot. Or maybe he's from somewhere so far away he's never seen a Titan before today and so doesn't realize how much danger he's in, even though just a few hours ago he practically got eaten himself. That would just make him ignorant, not stupid, except only someone suicidally idiotic would run straight into the midst of a pack of giant monsters, whether he knows exactly what they are or not.

Adrenaline surges through Levi but that's all, just regular adrenaline, no special burst of power; maybe he's too tired, or maybe his Ackerman abilities doesn't work when he knows the cause is hopeless, and it _is_ hopeless. There's no way to save Roy's life this time. Levi's too far away and there are too many fucking Titans in the way. Still, there's a horrible inevitability to watching a Titan lumber over and bend down to pluck Roy up before Levi can get his damn ass over there, and …

"The fuck," Levi says again, blinking, as if that's going to make what just happened any less ridiculous.

"What the hell was THAT?" Mike says, leaning forward. "Did he just …"

They all lean forward now to watch, staring, as the crazy guy who was somehow not just eaten alive after all veers around the writhing body of the Titan on the ground, heads right towards a 15-meter Titan and does … something … flings out his arm, points his fingers, and a flare of bright orange flame shoots out from no-the-fuck-where and sets the Titan's head alight. The Titan roars and rears back, but Roy ignores it; he's already turning to face the 10-meter Titan at his flank. He flings his arm out again, a sharp hard slash through the air, fierce and controlled, like his arm's a weapon, and flame erupts a third time, this time so bright Levi has to close his eyes against it.

The other Titan stumbles and goes down, and Roy turns towards the next, calm and collected, arm already positioned for another strike.

"Well," Hange says, leaning forward and practically salivating. "That's _very_ interesting."

That's one word for it, Levi thinks. " _Keine waffen,"_ Roy had said when Levi had asked if he had any weapons, " _Keine waffen_ ," no weapons, and he'd turned his pockets inside out and smiled at Levi, and why not? He wasn't lying, exactly, because why would you need a weapon if you can shoot fire from your hands?

"Whoever the hell he is, I'm glad he's on our side," Mike says, eyes wide.

Levi doesn't answer. He's already launching into the air, firebolts pulsing through his veins, and he shouts, exhilarated. He kills three Titans before he lands, touching down next to the first Titan Roy had attacked. It's already starting to pull itself to its feet, so Levi dispatches it with a quick slice to the nape.

"What do you think of our odds now?" Hange asks happily, hopping lightly off the body of another Titan.

"Better," Levi admits. His heart is pounding, strong and steady and victorious.

"Levi!" Roy yells at him, running up from behind another smoking Titan body. He looks ten kinds of frustrated and waves his hands as the other Titans he'd taken down start pulling themselves up to their feet, skin smoking as the burns repair themselves. Roy doesn't seem to have been expecting them to regenerate and is obviously pissed off about it. " _Sie sterben nicht!"_ he shouts incomprehensibly. " _Wie bringst du sie um_?"

"He really doesn't speak our language," Hange says, fascinated. Only Hange would find the time to be fascinated by a linguistic mystery in the midst of battle.

Levi knows exactly what Roy's saying. "He wants to know how to kill them."

Hange stares at him, eyes bright and intrigued. "You _can_ understand him?"

"No," Levi says. "It's just what I'd be asking if I'd never seen a Titan heal its injuries before." If I could shoot flame out of my fucking hands, he thinks. If I was used to everything dying when I shot fire at it from my fucking hands, what the fuck. He turns to Roy and taps the nape of his own neck meaningfully. "Here," he says, and Roy blinks, startled, like he hadn't expected to get an answer.

Roy stares at Levi, and it's disconcerting being the sudden focus of his gaze, dark and intent and fiercely intelligent. " _Hier_?" The accent is strange, but the word's right. Then Roy babbles something else and taps the back of his neck like Levi had done. "Here?"

"Here," Levi says, nodding, and that, at least, seems to be universal, because Roy breaks out into in a grin, kind of manic and savage, a little scary. " _Gut_ ," he says, then adds a lot of words after that; either he thinks Levi understands him or he just can't help himself from babbling. Then Roy's running towards the Titans again, heedless of any danger, but this time when the first one reaches him he runs right through its legs, pivots and flings his arm forward with a quick flick of his wrist. Flame slices through the air, 15 meters up, and the back of the Titan's neck flares red and then yellow and white. The Titan falls like a stone and Levi doesn't have to check to know it's dead.

Roy's already moving again, heading towards the next closest Titan, and Levi would laugh if laughing were something he did, but instead he just lets the power flow through him and settle into his bones. He launches into the air again, blood singing, swords at the ready. Movement blurs around him — Mike and Hange and Dirk and even Gregor with his bum ankle, everyone who's alive and mobile heading into battle, unafraid and rejuvenated. Levi still doesn't know who the fuck Roy is or where the fuck he came from, but at this moment, now that they've got a chance again, Levi very much doesn't give a shit.

Maybe it's not so hopeless after all.


	2. Seduction of a short, angry man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Trost. Roy is very much not okay. Levi learns Roy's unusual coping mechanisms. Fun with comparative linguistics begins. And so do the sexy times.
> 
> Roy:  
> But this is … this is … he doesn’t know _what_ it is. He doesn’t know where he is, or what those creatures or, or who these people are, and how in god’s name he’s going to get home again, and fuck it, Riza is going to _kill_ him; she will disembowel him …
> 
> Levi:  
> Levi takes a breath, and then another, long and slow and measured. It seems entirely possible that Roy has no idea what he is doing to Levi, and that’s almost worse, than Roy might be making Levi feel this unsettled and horny by _accident_.

By evening, they're safely back inside the city walls, reunited with the rest of the Survey Corps. Hange had skidded off to find Erwin almost as soon as they'd arrived, to tell him all about Roy and his inexplicable ability with flame. Inexplicable and deadly too: Roy is obviously no stranger to battle or slaughter. He hadn't seemed to be enjoying himself, particularly, but he'd been goddamn good at killing.

They'd suffered no more casualties, which Levi still can't quite believe, but the Titans had been slow and dopey, stupider than usual, easily outridden once the Corps made it to their horses. Lydia's going to survive, and Gregor's limping but can walk, and that's better than they could have reasonably hoped. Maybe even better than Levi could have hoped if he'd had an unprecedented fit of optimism.

Roy is red-eyed and pale, perched listlessly on a bench in the courtyard and staring off into the middle distance dazedly. Everyone is staring at him but no one is trying to talk to him at the moment. He doesn't seem to care. He looks exhausted. Levi wonders if the magic he'd used to make the flame is tiring, or if it's just from all the running around he'd had to do. Or maybe he's not used to fighting creatures that are so hard for him to kill.

"Here," Levi says, dropping into a crouch. He holds out a cup of water.

Roy takes it, looking slightly apprehensive. He's still wearing his gloves — won't let anyone touch them or even come near them — but Levi can still tell Roy's hands are shaking.

" _Was is das_?" Roy asks suspiciously. _What is that_ , obviously. He holds the cup slightly away from his body, peers suspiciously into the cup and sniffs at it once, then looks at Levi for a very long moment, his expression cautious. He doesn't quite trust Levi, then, which seems only fair, since Levi doesn't quite trust him either.

"Water," Levi says, and mimes drinking. "Water."

"Water?" Roy repeats, enunciating with care.

"Water," Levi says and mimes drinking again, trying to look as harmless as possible, despite having been told on many occasions that he's lousy at it and usually just ends up looking scarier.

Roy frowns at him, peers at the cup, smells it again, then finally takes a tentative sip. His expression clears and relaxes. " _Wasser_ ," he says, relieved. " _Es ist wasser_ , yes?"

"Water," Levi says again, articulating clearly in return. He can almost make sense of Roy's words; hopefully Roy can almost make sense of his. "It's water, yeah."

"Water," Roy repeats again. He tilts his head back and drains the cup, throat working. He does not spill a single drop. Watching him swallow is oddly mesmerizing, and Levi tries very hard not to stare. " _Danke_."

That's too similar to be a coincidence. "Thanks," Levi corrects.

"Thanks," Roy repeats, after a beat. Then he frowns and repeats it, adjusting his pronunciation slightly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Levi says automatically. He folds his arms across his chest and stares at Roy, who is still pale and jittery, twisting the cup around and around in his gloved hands. Levi feels an unexpected and unaccountable urge to offer some comfort, though he's not really sure how to go about it. Levi is not a good conversationalist at the best of times, more comfortable with silence than idle chatter, but Roy is lost and alone, and if nothing else, he killed a bunch of Titans today, so Levi owes him at least an attempt.

Levi unfolds his arms, relaxes his stance into one that is probably marginally less hostile, and clears his throat. "You okay?"

Roy stares at him helplessly. " _Was ist_ ‘okay?' "

"Um." Levi curses under his breath. "It's …" he says. "It's … not good, but not bad."

Roy looks blank.

"Um." Levi looks around for anyone else who would be more suited to this job — practically anyone would be, Levi thinks — but there's no one in the vicinity, probably because Levi has made it his business over the years to scare people away. Levi sighs and grits his teeth. "Um. Good," he says, and smiles, which feels weird and foreign; he hopes nobody else is watching. "Bad," he says, and frowns, which is easier. "Bad is … is not good."

"Good," Roy says, with a little nod. "Bad." He looks at Levi quizzically. "Okay _ist …_ is bad?"

"No. Okay is … is …" Levi takes a moment to think, then lifts his left hand up to around his chest. Roy watches attentively. "Good." Levi next drops his hand down to his waist. "Bad." Finally, Levi brings his hand up somewhere in the middle space. "Okay is here." He waves his hand back and forth. "Okay."

Roy stares for a moment, brow furrowed, but then his expression clears and he mimics Levi's movements and words, articulating carefully. "Good, bad, okay. Yes?"

Levi nods, feeling drained. He's not cut out for this, he thinks. "C'mon," he says, waving to the mess hall. "Let's eat." He mimes eating some food, exaggerated and somewhat ridiculous. "Eat."

"Eat," Roy repeats dutifully, though he doesn't move, but just stares at Levi through bleary eyes for what seems to be a really long time. Then he grimaces and pulls himself to his feet with only the slightest of winces. " _Gut_."

"Good," Levi says. "Yeah. Eating is good."

"Good," Roy repeats, more careful with his pronunciation. He's tired and anxious but still manages to flash a small but dazzling smile, which makes Levi's stomach flip oddly. No one living in the shadow of the Titans smiles like that. Levi wonders where in the hell he came from.

* * *

Roy is sitting in a dark secluded corner of the canteen. Levi has gotten him a plate of food, and Roy knows he should eat, but he's afraid that if he tries, he'll throw it all back up. He hasn't felt this sick to his stomach for a very long time, since Ishval, maybe; even at the worst with the homunculi he hadn't been this shaken. Not even when Maes had been murdered, though then it was probably just the case that he'd been so enraged there hadn't been any room within him for nausea.

But this is … this is … he doesn't know _what_ it is. He doesn't know where he is, or what those creatures or, or who these people are, and how in god's name he's going to get home again, and fuck it, Riza is going to _kill_ him; she will disembowel him …

… but no. She won't, that's just hyperbole. She'll be mad, but she won't disembowel him, but those monsters, those giants, they _might_ ; they plucked people off the ground and bit them in half and flung their insides everywhere. They'd picked _Roy_ up, that monster had come and picked Roy up and held him over his mouth and if Levi hadn't come when he did, Roy'd probably be dead right now, organs scattered on the ground … Roy groans and drops his head into his hands, breathing hard. He thinks he might break apart, he's shaking so hard. Delayed reaction, he guesses; he hadn't been like this back in the castle cell or out on the battlefield, but he hadn't felt safe enough in either of those places to let himself fall apart.

Someone taps him on the hand. Roy swallows and looks up. Levi is sitting across the table, looking slightly peeved. Roy hardly knows him but already suspects that slightly peeved is his default state. Levi points at the food and raises an eyebrow, mumbles something, only one word of which sounds familiar, the word for ‘eat,' he thinks. So Levi wants to know if Roy's going to eat, or maybe why Roy's not eating, or maybe he's ordering Roy to eat, except his intonation made it sounds like a question. That's not reliable, Roy knows; the inflection in Cretan is almost the exact opposite of Amestrian, and subtle changes in tone can distinguish two entirely different Xingese words from each other. But Roy is certain anyway that Levi asked him a question, although he can hardly have been expecting an intelligible answer.

Still, Roy takes a bite of bread, and Levi looks satisfied, if not happy. Roy guesses Levi doesn't do happy very well, though maybe that's just Roy projecting.

"Good?"

It's funny the way the Levi says "good," shoving the ‘g' to the back of his throat, softening the vowel and almost swallowing the end of the word altogether, but it's still something familiar to latch on to in an unfamiliar world.

"Good," Roy says, trying as best as he can to mimic Levi's pronunciation. He's always had an ear for languages, is fluent in half a dozen and can get by in another four or five; Levi's sounds close enough to Amestrian that Roy is confident he'll pick it up quickly. But it's worrisome, this language that sounds almost like something Roy knows, but isn't; there are about half a dozen dialects of Ishvalan, several dozen Xingese, but more or less everyone speaks Amestrian the same way.

Sure, there are regional accents. The Elric brothers peg themselves as southeasterners every time they open their mouths and their twangs come out, Maes never did quite manage to eliminate his distinctive flat northern vowels, and anyone who ever met Falman can tell he was born and raised in Central — some people can even tell which block. Roy sounds like he's from nowhere in particular but that's only because his aunt made sure he could blend in anywhere, as much as a half-Xingese orphan ever could. But the point is, there's really only one version of Amestrian; there aren't any significant dialectal differences. Plop a random citizen down anywhere in the country, and he'll understand everyone around him and be understood in turn.

So this language that kind of sounds like Amestrian but isn't, it doesn't make sense. It doesn't _exist_.

There's another thing, another more worrisome thing: he doesn't think anybody here knows what alchemy is.

Back in that falling-down castle, they'd locked him in a cell without taking any extra precautions to keep him there. He'd been baffled. They might not have recognized him as the Flame Alchemist, sure. Roy's not vain enough to think his face is instantly identifiable everywhere in the world. Maybe they hadn't even realized he was an Amestrian State Alchemist. But the transmutation circles stitched on his glove should still have been a dead giveaway that he was an alchemist of some sort. It's not like he'd tried to hide them.

But then why bother with the charade of locking him in a stone room with a dirt floor, with no special handcuffs or other restraints? Every alchemist knows at least a little stone alchemy; it's the easiest to learn, what everyone starts with. It'd taken Roy only a few seconds to transmute himself an exit once he'd heard the shouting, and that was probably twice as long as it should have taken him since he no longer needs to draw arrays. He's rusty. Edward would have laughed at him.

But even if he'd been slow, he'd gotten out. Any alchemist would have gotten out. But they had locked him in like they'd thought the cell could actually hold him. And Levi had asked if he'd had weapons, as if he'd need any. And they'd stared at him when he'd fought with flame like they had no idea what he was doing.

It's ridiculous. Even if they hadn't known who he was, even if they'd never heard of flame alchemy, even if they hadn't already put two and two together, surely they'd recognize alchemy when they actually saw it being performed in front of them, at least when they saw the transmutation circles on his gloves light up.

But they hadn't seemed to recognize it at all. They'd looked at him like he was some kind of sorcerer, like he was doing something miraculous or impossible. Which means what? That he's where? In another country he's never heard of where they somehow speak a language that's only almost familiar, where they have man-eating giant monsters and no one knows about alchemy?

It's absurd.

There are plenty of places in the world where alchemy is uncommon, but everybody knows about it, even in Xing where alkahestry is by far more widely practiced. And there is no place in the world where creatures as tall as buildings roam around eating people. Where the fuck _is_ he?

Levi says something, scowling, _vershpil_ something-or-other, and points at Roy's plate. Roy is still not hungry, but he hasn't thrown up after all, and good god, Levi is _glowering_ at him. It's an Elric-level glower. Roy has had many years' practice ignoring glares from short infuriated people, but he feels a little hobbled by his inability to make a height joke and break the tension. Plus he's not quite sure Levi wouldn't kill him for it even if he could make a joke; Levi's considerably older than Edward and 100% more homicidal, and though he has removed those ridiculous holsters on his thighs, he is undoubtedly still armed.

To appease the short, angry man with the big swords, Roy takes a bite of a familiar-looking sausage. It tastes exactly as ordinary as it looks, which would probably be comforting if it weren't so disconcerting. Sausage isn't unique to Amestris by any means, but this one could have come from the cart on the corner by his apartment, and _where the hell is he_?

Panic chokes him momentarily, so he breathes in deep and counts to ten. He's in no immediate danger, at least, and whatever those monsters were, they weren't immune to fire, and those are two very positive aspects of his situation on which he can focus. Plus there is food and drink and nobody seems inclined to throw him back in a cell. More positives. He's racking up silver linings left and right.

Someone else approaches them, nearly Roy's height, with glasses and a ponytail. Hange, Roy remembers, after a moment. He'd been introduced to the rest of Levi's squadron on the long ride back to wherever the hell this is. "Hello," Hange says.

Well, that's one word he's not going to have to struggle to remember. "Hello," Roy says back. He takes another small bite of the bratwurst to appease Levi, who continues to glower at him. Roy wonders what he's done wrong, though it's possible that it's nothing more than the simple fact of his existence. Levi seems like the sort of man who would be annoyed by things like that.

Hange beams at him with a slightly manic edge that makes Roy feel uncomfortable, kind of like a specimen under a microscope. " _Hovind jehet eten lekker_?"

Roy has no idea what that means, other than he thinks ‘ _eten'_ has something to do with food or eating. He swallows the completely inoffensive bit of sausage and says, "It's good." Then says ‘good' again the way they do, just to make sure they understand.

Hange beams at him again — still manic, still scary — and turns to Levi and babbles excitedly at him. Levi answers back with something terse, sounding as irritable with Hange as he is with Roy, which is marginally comforting to Roy, at least insofar as it means that Roy isn't the specific target of Levi's displeasure. Their speech is far too fast for Roy to have any hope of understanding any of it, so he turns his attention back to his plate. Now that he's started eating, he's actually quite hungry, and he finishes the bratwurst and bread and potato in short (ha! Where is Edward when you need him to be the butt of a joke?) order.

Hange spews roughly 200 words for every one of Levi's. Hange speaks excitedly, waving and pointing at Roy occasionally in a way that makes Roy very apprehensive. But Levi doesn't seem to be impressed or moved for all Hange's wild gesticulations; despite the fact that he's at Hange's chin level, he somehow seems to be looking down his nose. He answers are brief; his words are clipped, precise. He's the superior officer, then, Roy assumes, though Hange doesn't seem especially deferential to him, so maybe not. Maybe Levi just condescends to everyone. Roy shouldn't be making assumptions, he supposes. Not about anything.

Roy places his silverware on the empty plate and pushes it a few inches away from him, a universal symbol, he hopes, that he's done eating. He clasps his hands together in his lap so Hange and Levi won't see that they're still shaking. Eating's helped somewhat, but he's still tense and jittery, filled with a restless energy he has no way to disperse. If he were home he'd head to his aunt's and lose himself in a bottle or a bed-partner. Probably both; it's been a hell of a day. But he's not home. He's not even in Ishval, where he'd have done the same, just with less care for the quality of his chosen diversion. _That's not how adults cope with stress,_ Maes used to tell him. _I'm an adult and that's how I cope,_ Roy would fire back, and then he'd go off and get drunk or laid or both, and Maes would tut and fret, but by the next morning, Roy would feel better, and Maes would sigh, and … _god damn it,_ he thinks furiously, _he's dead. Let it rest, Mustang_. _Obsessing about it is how you ended up here in the first place._

"Here," Levi says, and thrusts another cup at him. Hange has disappeared while Roy was staring at his shaking hands.

Roy takes the cup obediently and drinks. It's more water. "Thanks," he says. It cannot hurt to be polite to angry armed men, no matter how short they are. When he's finished, he stares into the empty cup blindly, thinks of Maes and Ishval and burnt bodies and dismembered corpses and all the awful, swirling energy inside him. Roy sighs. If he were home, he would have skipped the bratwurst, had a liquid dinner and he'd already be in somebody's bed, not thinking.

He wonders, idly, who might be an amenable partner here, and almost immediately, his thoughts turn to Levi. Not that he has any reason to suppose Levi is interested in men, and not that he has any reason to suppose that even if Levi were interested in men, he would be interested in Roy, but Roy spent much of his day with his arms wrapped around Levi's waist, and everything he felt was muscle, firm and solid. Levi was ferocious fighting against the creatures; Roy imagines he would be equally ferocious in bed.

His dick twitches interestedly and he forces his mind off the topic of Levi and sex, because realistically, that is not happening. Levi doesn't even seem to like him. Levi doesn't seem to like anyone. Roy has slept with people whose language he didn't speak, and he has slept with people who didn't really care for him, but he's never managed to pull off both at the same time. He doesn't imagine Levi will be the first.

Alcohol it is then, if he's lucky. Roy sighs again and holds up his cup. "I don't suppose you have any wine here."

He doesn't expect any sort of answer, but Levi stares at him for a few seconds, brow furrowed. Then he nods at the cup and says, "Wine?"

Roy blinks at him. How in the world Levi managed to pick out the one salient word is beyond him, since it doesn't seem Levi understands Roy's language any better than Roy understands Levi's. "Yes," he says cautiously. He mimes drinking from the cup. "Wine."

Levi grunts, then jerks his head to the right. " _Volg mij,_ " he says, and it doesn't take much imagination to figure out what that means when he picks up his tray and starts walking away, checking over his shoulder to see if Roy's coming. Roy stands up and follows Levi, first to deposit their trays in a bucket and then out of the mess, across a courtyard and through a doorway, then down into the basement of one particularly nondescript building. Levi doesn't say anything else.

Roy just hopes he's not getting thrown into a cell again.

* * *

To say Levi's fellow Corps members are startled to see him appear in the officers' lounge would be an understatement. To say Levi does not enjoy having everyone gape at him would be a bigger understatement.

"Fuck off," he says irritably, when Moblit pantomimes having a heart attack upon catching sight of him.

Roy is watching Moblit clutch at his chest with some puzzlement. "Okay?" he asks. That is about a quarter of his current vocabulary, which makes the asking of the question stupid, since he's not really equipped to handle an answer other than ‘yes.' But Roy doesn't look like he's seriously asking anyway; actually he looks mildly amused and much less anxious than he's been since Levi found him. Levi supposes Moblit is dopey enough to have that effect on people, like a big slobbering puppy you can't help find charming.

Moblit ends his melodramatic death scene and waves Roy's concern off with a vague sweep of his arm. "I'm fine, I'm fine. But seriously. Levi. What the fuck are you doing here? You don't drink. Or fuck."

"Roy wants some wine," Levi says truculently. He does so drink and fuck. Just not in recent memory. Not that it's any of Moblit's goddamn business what he does or whom he does it with.

At Levi's mention of his name, and maybe the mention of the word ‘wine,' Roy turns back around. Convinced that Moblit was in no imminent danger of keeling over, Roy had taken the chance to scope out the room with bright, curious eyes. The cut and color of his godawful coat should make him look entirely out of place, but strangely, he looks relaxed, like he belongs. This is obliquely irritating to Levi, since Levi spent his earliest years in a whorehouse and much of his childhood getting dragged from one filthy Underground tavern to another. A little drunken carousing among the Survey Corps would have been tame for him when he was nine; he should theoretically fit right in here. But he doesn't, and he knows it, and it annoys the hell out of him. The fact that Roy seems entirely comfortable here only makes it worse. He seems more than comfortable, actually. Roy's mood had perked up as soon as they had walked in the door.

Moblit apparently had his first drink before they arrived, and claps Roy on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "You want some wine, huh?"

Roy nods with a small grin, a little rueful and a lot charming. "Wine," he repeats, with enough of a lilt to make it sort of a question. "Yes, thanks."

"All right, come on," Moblit says cheerfully. "This asshole brought you to the right place. I'll hook you up." Hand still on Roy's shoulder, Moblit nudges him gently towards the makeshift bar in the back of the room, where they're serving the latest batch of cow piss Hange and Mike have brewed up in their illegal still.

Before stepping away, Roy glances uncertainly at Levi, like he wonders if he's allowed to leave Levi's side. Well, fuck if Levi is going to be Roy's guardian or keeper. Levi just raises an eyebrow, and this is apparently sufficient because Roy lets himself be led away. Levi absolutely does not admire the way Roy's big stupid coat frames his shoulders. Or. Well. So what if Levi does admire it? He's allowed. Roy is very attractive and Levi is not blind.

"Captain Levi making an appearance in the officers' lounge. One of us must be hallucinating." The voice in Levi's ear is dry and unwelcome.

"Fuck you," Levi says mildly. Moblit and Roy have arrived at the bar; Roy flashes a dazzling smile at Mike and is rewarded with a glass that looks at least superficially clean. Mike makes a show of pouring the wine and earns another smile equally as dazzling as the first.

Erwin huffs. "You could occasionally pretend to have a little respect for my rank."

"I _could."_

"Asshole." This is also said relatively companionably. The glass of wine in Erwin's hand is probably not his first.

At the bar, Roy sniffs his drink, peers into the glass dubiously — for show, Levi thinks — then downs half of it in one long swallow, coughing a little, to Mike and Moblit's friendly laughter.

Erwin lets out a little grunt. "Can he really shoot fire from his hands?"

Levi shrugs. "I don't know if it's from his hands, exactly. Looked like it, yeah, but we were fighting a shitload of Titans, so I wasn't looking that closely."

Erwin frowns. He stands next to Levi for a little while, watching Roy but not saying anything. The silence is fine by Levi. He and Erwin get along better when they don't have to speak to each other.

In a relatively short amount of time, Roy finishes his glass of swill and snags a second, apparently unconcerned about its doubtful quality. With each sip, a little more of the tension in his posture eases. Moblit keeps trying to talk to him, waving his arms around a lot, which does not appear to be very helpful, if Roy's befuddled expression is anything to go by. His lack of comprehension doesn't seem to be hindering his ability to socialize; half of the room's already introduced themselves to him, and so far as Levi can tell, Roy's charmed everyone.

Hange approaches Levi and Erwin, also holding a drink, though by its color it is not the rotgut everyone else is drinking. "Well, this is a day for firsts. Levi graces us with his presence."

Levi crosses his arms. For fuck's sake. "Roy wanted a drink."

"Of course he did. God knows you'd never come on your own," Hange says dryly.

"He wanted a drink," Levi repeats irritably. "I don't keep a stock of liquor in my quarters." Actually, he has a few bottles of wine, but he's saving them for … something. Something which is not bringing a stranger back to his quarters to get drunk. Even an attractive stranger who killed a bunch of Titans by shooting fire from his hands or something.

"Still," Hange says. "I figured you would want him locked him up for the night, Erwin."

Erwin had wanted him locked up as soon as they'd gotten back. Levi had flatly refused, and Erwin is no longer in any physical condition to even attempt to force Levi to do something he doesn't want to do. Not that he would ever have been successful, but he could have made a good showing before he lost the arm.

"You saw how well that went this afternoon," Levi says. Across the room, Roy appears to be listening intently to Mila. He scrunches up his face and says something. Mila and Moblit and Mike laugh, not meanly, and Mila even latches onto Roy's arm. Levi drums his fingers on his forearms, irritably. "Anyway, it's not like he's going to turn into a Titan."

Both Erwin and Hange swivel their heads to look at him. Erwin is the one who speaks. "And you know that how, exactly?"

Truth be told, Levi has no idea how he knows that, except that it's obvious. "He's just …" he flounders. "He's not. He _fought_ the Titans."

Hange takes a sip of wine. "Eren fights the Titans."

This is true, but, "Eren doesn't have any special powers unless he's in his Titan form. We've never seen anyone who has any special powers except in Titan form."

Erwin lifts an aristocratic brow at him, hard.

Levi flushes. "He's not an Ackerman either, all right?"

"He's _something_ ," Erwin says.

"He sure is," Hange says dryly, gesturing to where Roy stands surrounded by a pack of drunken drooling admirers, holding court. Roy is smiling and laughing, relaxed, his movements a tiny bit too broad and sloppy.

"He's drunk," Erwin says, frowning.

"Can you blame him?" Hange answers. "After the day he's had? I'd be drunk too, if I were him."

"He's drinking," Levi corrects, vaguely pissed off. "Not drunk. Not any drunker than he wants to be, at least."

Hange raises an eyebrow. "How drunk's that?"

"Drunk enough to get what he wants," Levi says. "Drunk enough not to care who gives it to him."

Hange frowns. "What he wants … oh."

"Oh," Levi agrees. He watches Roy some more, sees him charm another glass of wine out of Mike with a smile and a glance that's held for two seconds too long, sees women giggle and blush when he speaks to them in his incomprehensible language, flustered and flattered even though they can't possibly understand what he's saying. Men too, Levi notices with interest. Roy doesn't seem too particular about who he turns his attention to.

Levi watches Roy down his glass of wine in one smooth gulp, head thrown back, eyes closed, not quite putting on a show, but certainly inviting attention. Attractive by any conventional standard and aware of it, used to using it to his advantage. Like Farlan, Levi thinks suddenly. Someone else who was too handsome for his own good. He clenches his jaw and looks away with difficulty.

"Maybe we should lock him up after all," Hange murmurs. "Or else he's ending up in somebody's bed tonight."

Erwin scowls. Levi thinks that Erwin disapproves of sex on general principle, unless it is for the express purpose of procreation, and possibly even then. Erwin disapproves of doing anything simply for the fun or pleasure of it. Levi doesn't often do things for fun … almost never, not anymore … but it's not because he thinks there's something fundamentally wrong with having fun; it's that he's a sour and bitter man with crippling neuroses. He's mostly come to terms with it. Erwin just has a massive stick up his ass. Levi doesn't even know why Erwin is here, unless it is solely for the purpose of frowning at people.

"So what if he does end up in someone's bed? What are you worried about?" Levi asks. "He's going to fuck state secrets out of someone? He wouldn't understand them anyway."

Erwin clicks his tongue disagreeably. "You don't know what he understands."

Levi sighs. "Yeah, you're right. He might understand everything we say perfectly. This could all be an elaborate ruse. That confused look might be an act. He might actually be a spy, and he might actually have planned for me to come rescue him when he was five seconds away from getting eaten by a Titan, and he might actually have spent ten minutes running around trying to kill Titans from the front just to make it look like he didn't know you have to kill them from the back, and he might be getting drunk and flirting with everyone here in the hopes of winding up in bed with someone who happens to have confidential information that they're willing to spill, instead of, you know, just wanting to get drunk and get fucked because he almost died twice today and he's scared shitless. I mean. It's _possible_."

Irritation radiates thick and heavy from every pore of Erwin's body. "It must be nice to be so sure you're right all the time."

Levi doubts everything he ever says or does, except for when he's fighting Titans and there is no time for second-guessing. "If someone wanted to send a spy"—who, Levi has no idea, but he can't deny that there is a shadowy enemy out there somewhere creating human Titans—"then this is a fucking stupid way to go about it. That's all I'm saying. Roy's a hell of a weapon. Why send him to fight _with_ us, if they wanted to use him _against_ us?"

"He does stand out," Hange says, with an appreciative hum. "If they wanted to plant a spy"—whoever _they_ are—"it would make sense to use someone who'd fit in better." Like Annie, Hange doesn't say. Like Bertholdt and Reiner. Nobody you'd ever look at twice until they tried to kill you. Roy would never fade into the background like that, even if he wasn't wearing that damned coat. Nobody wouldn't look at Roy two or three or a dozen times.

Erwin huffs out air and crosses his arms over his chest. "If this blows up in our faces, I'm holding the two of you responsible."

If this blows up in their faces, Levi thinks the explosion will leave only ashes. They could undoubtedly stop Roy if they had to; he's just one man, even if he has a power they don't understand, but they probably couldn't stop him before he killed a lot of people, if that's what he wanted to do. He is strong and fierce and also very, very violent. Levi had recognized a little (a lot) of himself in the way Roy had fought, vibrant and unfettered. It should and does make Levi cautious. It is also undeniably enticing. It's been a long time since Levi's met anyone quite as unhinged as he is himself.

Levi looks over to where Roy has a half dozen dazzled devotees flitting around him like moths circling a lamp. An unpleasant emotion settles heavily in his gut. Envy, maybe. Levi has never wanted adulation and he's uncomfortable with it on the rare occasions he gets it, but there's something off-putting about seeing Roy just … he's not even really _trying_ , and people are just …

It's not that Levi wants the things that Roy can apparently so effortlessly get. Roy doesn't even speak the language, for fuck's sake; shouldn't that be a huge handicap? But that doesn't mean that Levi doesn't feel the injustice down to his bones, that Roy could probably have anybody in this room with just a smile.

Or.

Well.

Maybe it's not envy at all. Maybe it's just the thought of Roy ending up in bed with someone — with someone _else_ — that's making his stomach turn.

Roy smiles at Mike and tilts forward. Mike blinks like he's concussed, then leans closer. Mike is _straight._ Levi's fists clench so hard his nails break the skin of his palms.

Fuck. He's screwed.

Roy has reached the bottom of his fourth glass of weak swill and is starting to look around for a fifth.

"I think he's had enough," Levi grumbles.

Hange pulls a very peculiar, knowing face. "I thought you said it was okay if he wanted to get drunk and get fucked. Seems like he's making progress on both fronts."

Levi makes an obscene gesture in lieu of answering, and stalks across the floor, fuming.

"Levi!" Roy's face lights up when he sees Levi approach. His smile is friendly and honest and not purposefully seductive, but the force of it is still staggering. Levi feels a flush of heat sweep over him, so hot he wonders if Roy's actually done something with his flame. But no, no one else seems to have noticed a flash of heat, so it's just Levi reacting to … to nothing. Except it's not really nothing. It's Levi reacting to an absurdly good-looking guy with perfectly tousled hair and a slim waist and broad shoulders framed by a stupid blue coat who is smiling at Levi like Levi is the only person in the entire room who is worth smiling at, and … it's suddenly a little hard to breathe. His trousers are definitely tighter than they were a few minutes ago, _fuck._

Levi takes a breath, and then another, long and slow and measured. It seems entirely possible that Roy has no idea what he is doing to Levi, and that's almost worse, than Roy might be making Levi feel this unsettled and horny by _accident._

The half dozen people hanging off each one of Roy's unintelligible words are crowding Levi out. Levi does not like it. Levi does not like it at all. He casually steps into Roy's space, closer than he ought to, bristling and possessive and full-on Ackerman. The crowd of people step back, then disperse hurriedly with a few lingering rueful glances, but Levi pays them no mind. Only one person is going to be the lucky one going home with Roy, and everyone else will find somebody else. Nobody here is going home alone tonight, except for Erwin, and hell, maybe Erwin won't either. Stranger things have happened. Levi knows that his distaste for Erwin is not shared by the rest of the Corps, and it is not like Levi cares one way or the other who Erwin fucks or doesn't, or if he fucks at all.

Riff-raff gone, Levi nods his head in greeting and thinks about what he can say that Roy might understand. "Good wine?"

Roy doesn't seem to notice that his admirers have vanished, looking down at his empty glass with a grimace. Unfairly, the slight wrinkle in his forehead does not make him any less attractive. "Good?" he repeats slowly. He considers it for a minute, then shakes his head, grinning ruefully. "No. _Ist_ no _sehr_ good. _Ist_ okay, _aber, es ist_ wine." He tilts the glass back, swallowing whatever few drops were lingering at the bottom, then twists around to deposit the empty glass on the bar. His movements are neat and controlled so he is not drunk after all, despite four glasses of wine, although to be fair the alcohol content of Mike's home brew is dubious. On the other hand, his eyes are a little glassy, so he is not quite sober either. "Thank you," he says, voice only a little bit blurry, "thank you I come here."

Levi's attention is caught by the perfect twist to Roy's mouth, a charming hint of self-deprecating humor, like he knows damn well that what he said didn't entirely make sense, but also knows that it made enough sense to be understood. Up close, his chin is shadowy with faint stubble, and he has a few fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the beginnings of wrinkles that probably won't fully set in for another decade. One earlobe has a tiny mark, maybe a piercing? Do men wear earrings where Roy's from?

The wine has brought a flush to Roy's cheeks and sharpened his smile. The wine, or else the knowledge that Levi has been brazenly ogling him for the past five minutes. Roy tilts his head down toward Levi, and it is absolutely fucking not Levi's imagination that Roy's gaze is lingering on Levi's mouth. The room feels suddenly very warm.

Levi takes a step back.

That is, Levi _intends_ to take a step back.

Except he doesn't. His traitorous body does just the opposite; he is now right up in Roy's space, close enough that he can smell the liquor on Roy's breath, close enough that he can count every goddamn eyelash as they flutter against Roy's skin. Roy has a small scar next to his right eye, a pale little dimple, probably a mark from some kind of pox he had as a child, hardly visible but strangely alluring. Levi is overcome with a desire to run his tongue over it, to see if he can feel the small depression. He sways forward — what the _fuck_ , Levi thinks in alarm, stopping the motion short with a jolt. Roy is the one who's been drinking, not Levi; what the hell is he—

"Levi," Roy murmurs. His voice is a low rumble that sends shivers through Levi's entire body, and Roy's gaze is suddenly hot and very frankly assessing; pleased, hungry and anticipatory. Maybe he hadn't been trying to seduce Levi before, but he is sure as hell trying now.

To his faint surprise, Levi finds that he is not at all opposed to being seduced. Everyone in the room is staring at him … at them … at Roy and Levi, as if Roy and Levi are a thing, together, a unit to be stared at, and Levi finds that he is very much _unopposed_ to being part of a unit with Roy. At least for a little while.

He straightens, and shoves his hands in his pocket so he won't do something as embarrassing as grabbing Roy and tearing off that stupid coat right in the middle of the officers' lounge. He jerks his head towards the door. "Come on."

"Okay," Roy says immediately, and follows.

* * *

Back in his quarters, up against the wall with the stupid blue coat crumpled on the floor and Roy's tongue practically down his throat, Levi has a brief moment of indecision, maybe even panic. _What are you doing?_ he thinks to himself, hazily. He doesn't do this, doesn't come back from expeditions and fall straight into bed with some other willing body. He always manages to slink off and away, and no one's ever pressed him on it, not even Hange, and Levi doesn't care what the others think so long as they leave him alone.

It's not that he's entirely uninterested in sex, and it's definitely not that he thinks he's too good for everyone else here; it's not even that he's still pining after Isabel and Farlan, though that's part of it, of course it's part of it; every time he comes back from a mission he wonders why he's still alive, and missing Isabel and Farlan is like a knife lodged in his belly, a wound that never heals…

…Okay, maybe he's pining a little bit, but that's not why he abstains. He doesn't fuck friends because he doesn't have friends, and he doesn't fuck strangers because he doesn't trust strangers, and …

… Roy nips at his neck, hungry and desperate. Levi can't walk away now, that'd be the shittiest of shit moves, and anyway, fuck, it's been a _really_ long time since anyone's touched him like this, and Isabel and Farlan are long dead and past caring who Levi has sex with. Not that they would care anyway, they wouldn't have wanted him to be alone forever; they'd probably be furious at him for waiting this long. Also, Roy's fingers are very, very clever, rough with strange callouses, hot where they touch Levi's skin — is that from the flame, Levi wonders dizzily — and _god_ , Roy's touching all the good spots, or maybe it's just that wherever Roy touches becomes a good spot instantly.

 _If I don't slow this down_ , Levi thinks distantly, _it's going to be over before I get my trousers off._

Levi doesn't own enough clothing that he can afford to be so reckless. With some effort, he pushes Roy back. "Wait," he says.

Levi's surprised when Roy backs off immediately. He thinks he'd been expecting Roy to put up some resistance. But Roy puts some space between them and rubs at his mouth uncertainly. "… okay?" He asks, finally, and he doesn't look angry, maybe just a little confused, maybe even a little apprehensive.

"I," Levi says, then stops, staring, now that he's caught his breath and can actually look. Roy's flushed and gorgeous, color high in his cheeks, eyes blown and needy; his hair is a spectacular mess, and the cut on his forehead is a thin red line peeking out from under his bangs, bruising starting to blossom around it. Levi has an almost uncontrollable urge to comb Roy's hair and put a plaster on the cut, but he squelches it down. "I just need a minute," he says instead, for which he earns a puzzled stare, because Roy doesn't actually speak his language, right. "Just … come on," he says, and reaches out to grab Roy by the wrist, tug him forward farther into the room and toward the bedroom. "I haven't had sex in forever. I'm not going to do it up against the wall."

It's either his tone or the firm wrist-tugging that convinces Roy that all is well after all; he lets himself be pulled into the other room, and watches with bemused interest as Levi carefully pulls the covers off and folds them neatly at the bottom of the bed. All right, _fine,_ it's a little compulsive, whatever, but Levi's not a heathen, and blankets are hard to clean.

Roy jabbers something under his breath that Levi supposes on the basis of nothing but tone is something like, "Oh, you're one of _those_ ," but then he grins at Levi and reaches for Levi's shirt, tentative and cautious, waiting for a moment with his fingers on the top button.

"Don't let me stop you," Levi says, and untucks Roy's crisp white shirt with one sharp pull up and out.

Roy hums with approval, and then his clever, clever fingers start making their way deftly through Levi's buttons, one after another. All the adrenaline Levi thought had drained away floods back through his system, making his heart pound and his legs tremble, and then Roy's fingers are at his waistband, exploring. Farlan used to do something similar, he was always a tease, it always drove Levi crazy but Levi would give anything now if … no, fuck it, Levi thinks, he's allowed to stop thinking every once in a while, and so he does.

Levi's impressions of the next little while are hazy, just wave after wave of sensation. He'd forgotten what sex with another person is like. It's overwhelming, near sensory overload. Fingers and lips and teeth, bodies pushing and pulling against each other, skin on skin almost too much to bear. Levi keeps his mind shut off, doesn't let himself think about anything except how he feels, except that every once in a while he hears himself and has the presence of mind to be a little embarrassed. "You're so noisy," Farlan used to tell him, but Levi knew Farlan loved it, could tell by the way it would make his eyes go all dark and wide, the way it'd make Farlan's voice go low and hoarse and needy. Farlan loved it, hearing Levi, because Levi was always so quiet otherwise, and … _fuck_ , he thinks dimly, as Roy touches him _right_ _there_ , _oh god_ , and he groans despite himself, long and loud. Roy shudders in response, mumbles something into Levi's shoulder, and bites down hard. Levi convulses and stops thinking again.

"Okay?" Roy asks sometime later, and Levi has to blink himself back to some semblance of awareness. He is splayed out on his bed and Roy is kneeling between his legs, hands resting lightly on Levi's hips. Roy's fingers are hot on Levi's skin. It _must_ be the flame, Levi thinks; he must have flame simmering under his skin all the time.

Roy is staring down at Levi, his gaze as hot as his fingers, frank and appreciative. He rubs his thumbs over Levi's hip bones, round and around in small circles, and Levi whines involuntarily.

Roy's eyebrow quirks. He looks a little amused and a lot turned on, but also expectant, like he's waiting for something. Levi replays the last few minutes in his head, and … oh. Right. ‘Okay?' Roy had asked, and maybe he was asking if Levi was all right or maybe he was asking for some kind of permission, but it doesn't matter. Roy could ask anything Levi anything right now, and Levi's answer would be the same.

"Yes," he says. His heart's pounding. Roy's fingers on his hips are doing strange things to his insides. "Okay, yes."

Roy grins then, bright and blinding, sexy and confident and self-assured, and then he murmurs something low and heated that Levi assumes from the tone is pornographic, and bends gracefully over and swallows Levi down in one smooth move.

"Fuck!" Levi just about jerks off the bed, but Roy's hands are firm, splayed strong and warm on Levi's hips and he's strong, damn it, so all those muscles in his arms are practical as well as aesthetic. Levi keens once, head spinning, as Roy proceeds to very methodically take him apart with his mouth and tongue and even careful judicious use of his teeth.

Levi pants and moans and even considers resorting to begging, which surely is comprehensible even in a foreign language, but Roy seems immune and also very, very practiced in the art of fellatio. Worse, he seems to have a sixth sense about exactly how close Levi is to orgasm and is not hesitant to take advantage. Every time Levi is on the edge, when he is just about there, Roy pulls back, or grips the base of Levi's cock, or nips just a little too hard with his teeth, and Levi falls back just enough so that he can't quite finish, and it is fucking awesome or it is fucking horrible: Levi isn't lucid enough to decide.

After minutes, hours, _days_ of torture, Levi's exhausted and strung out and desperate. He doesn't think he's ever been this desperate in his entire life. His erection is throbbing and leaking and when he risks opening his eyes — they keep closing of their own accord — he sees that his cock is red and swollen and shiny with spit. It looks obscene. He is kind of embarrassed but also aroused at the sight.

Roy sits back on his heels, rubbing his neck. He grimaces a bit, when he catches Levi's eyes. _"Eine minute,"_ he says ruefully, and does some very complicated stretching thing that looks practiced but painful. He lets out a slight moan that is not remotely sexy, but which makes it obvious that, magic fire aside, Roy is still fundamentally human, at least human enough to suffer from aching muscles. It's comforting, because Levi had been seriously starting to wonder.

Roy indulges in another few deep muscle kneads and another few sighs. These are more than a little pornographic, if only because Roy at this moment looks like fucking sex incarnate, sweaty and disheveled and stunning. Roy catches his eye and grins, then says something low and throaty and sexy as fuck even if Levi has no idea what the words mean. Roy folds over, smooth and graceful, swallowing Levi down his throat like it's easy, like choking is something he just can't be bothered with, and maybe not quite human after all, or maybe he's human but with no gag reflex maybe … maybe …

"Fuck," Levi manages, voice strangled and strange, and he thrusts up involuntarily, hoping that this time, finally, Roy is going to stop teasing.

Roy pulls off but wraps his hand around Levi's cock, jerking him off ruthlessly, and that's … that's fine, too, that's more than fine, fuck, _finally_ …

" _Komm zu mir_ , Levi," Roy murmurs, peering up at him, hot breath gusting over Levi's skin. Levi doesn't need to be a linguist to figure that out, and also, Levi does not need any further encouragement, especially when Roy bends back down and takes Levi back in his mouth, sucking hard and deep and fast, two fingers playing roughly with Levi's balls, fingernails scraping just lightly enough to sting.

Levi's heart stops, he thinks, seizes in his chest and just gives up, and his pulse is throbbing in his ears and his vision's whited out and his chest is burning and he's … he's just _lost_.

He comes with a sound that is more than a moan and less than a yell and is too loud and too raw and too honest. Roy doesn't pull off, just keeps sucking steadily until all the aftershocks have faded and Levi has collapsed back on the mattress, wrung dry and boneless. Levi cracks his eyes open, blinking blearily, to see Roy licking his lower lip matter-of-factly, just to clean it, Levi thinks, not lasciviously. Roy's expression is kind of neutral, as if he doesn't especially enjoy the taste but isn't disgusted either, though he smirks a bit, self-satisfied, when he sees Levi watching him.

Well, two can play at that game. Levi's not particularly sexually adventurous and he's compulsively allergic to dirt, but bodily fluids don't count, especially when they're his own. He surges up and kisses Roy, open-mouthed with tongue, and Roy's only startled for a second before he kisses back enthusiastically, humming with approval. Roy's erection bobs hotly against Levi's thigh, and Levi gets a little delirious considering the possibilities open to him. He wants to do _everything._

From the way Roy is moaning into his mouth, it seems he is equally on board with this plan. Levi flows up to his knees without breaking the kiss, then wraps his hand around Roy's cock. Roy jolts and sighs, and … _fuck_ , Levi thinks, _this is going to be fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SapphireMusings gets credit for the chapter title. :)


	3. Inappropriate Preoccupation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two. Not a dream.
> 
> There's this:  
> Because Levi might be a cute guy Roy spent a pleasant night in bed with, and he probably looks absolutely gorgeous when he smiles, but he lives on another planet or in some other universe or in some alternate reality, and he apparently spends his days fighting man-eating giants, and what Roy needs to be focusing on is getting the fuck home as soon as possible. Not on how to make Levi smile, or laugh. Even though he's probably gorgeous when he does.
> 
> And this:  
> "He learns quickly," Levi says, and is _not_ thinking about how quickly Roy had picked up on everything Levi liked and didn't, how by the end of the night Roy had known exactly where to touch to make Levi fall apart, how he'd had Levi shaking with need … stop it, he tells himself, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "His language seems related to ours, anyhow."

Sunlight wakes Levi an indeterminate while later. Levi's first few thoughts, in no particular order, are, _what time is it_ , and _ow,_ and _I'm going to need to burn these sheets._ It's hard to get too worked up about any of it, even though ordinarily he'd be disgusted that he slept in soiled linens, and worried that he's overslept. He's too relaxed to be disgusted or worried. He feels pleasantly sore and sleepy, more well-rested than he's been for a long time. Roy's sleeping next to him, his hair even more of a disaster than it had been (which should make him less attractive but doesn't, perversely), lying on his back with one hand thrown over his eyes, blanket pooled loosely around his hips, leaving him just barely decent. There is a horrible scar covering the left half of his lower abdomen; Levi saw it last night but it looks worse in daylight, bubbled and angry, edges jagged. The flesh looks seared, except that doesn't make any sense: if Roy can shoot flame from his hands, he shouldn't be able to be burned; surely his skin is flame resistant, unless maybe that's what the gloves are for, to protect him from his own fire?

The sunlight highlights other scars too, lots of them, most of them little, some that Levi thinks might be from bullets, not that he's any kind of expert on gunshot wounds. Kenny always preferred knives and so Levi does too. Roy's also got a matching set of scars on his palms, with an exit wound on the back of each hand. Puncture wounds, Levi thinks, taken aback. Like Roy's been crucified.

Maybe it's not normal to shoot flame from your hands wherever it is Roy comes from, then. Maybe people thought he was a monster or a demon and tried to cripple his hands, or maybe even kill him. People are stupid that way, wanting to kill things they don't understand. Maybe that's why he's here — he's running for his life from people who are afraid of his power.

Or maybe Roy's been fighting some other kind of monster, not Titans, but something strong enough that he hasn't won every battle. Levi tries to imagine an enemy that could withstand someone who controls fire, then decides that if such creatures exist, if there are creatures out there worse than Titans, he'd rather not know about them.

Roy shifts on the bed, his arm falling down to his side, frowning in his sleep. He mumbles something under his breath. "Maze," it sounds like. " _Nein_ ," he says; that means 'no,' Levi remembers. Roy twitches, restless, forehead creasing in distress. " _Maze_!" he says again, agitated now.

Levi's suffered through enough bad dreams of his own to be disinclined to leave someone else mired in one, but he's also very mindful of the fact that a disoriented Roy might accidentally incinerate him. After some consideration, he decides that Roy is probably marginally less of a threat without his gloves, and also that he is too good in bed to have murdered all of his previous lovers. Still, one can be compassionate without being suicidally stupid. Levi scoots back out of range of any probable retaliation, and gently pokes Roy on the shoulder. "Hey," he says. "Roy. Wake up."

Roy jerks hard and comes awake all at once, sitting up with a gasp and looking wildly around the room, fingers twitching in what strikes Levi as a very threatening manner.

"It's okay," Levi says, as calmly and non-aggressively as possible. "You're okay."

Roy's eyes snap to him. He stares at Levi blankly for a long moment with no sign of recognition, and Levi tries very hard to stay still and small. Then awareness floods into Roy's eyes; he inhales sharply and breathes out a word that can only be a curse. "Levi," he says, collapsing back against the wall with a sigh. " _Es war kein traum_."

Levi processes for a moment, makes an educated guess, and shrugs. "No," he says. "It wasn't a dream."

"Dream," Roy repeats obediently. He scrubs at his face tiredly, but then musters up a smile which is unfairly attractive. " _Guten morgen_."

"Good morning yourself. Do you need to use the bathroom?"

Roy blinks at him in answer, and Levi sighs. He knows they figured this out yesterday. "Um," he says. "Bathroom. Head? Toilet?"

"Toilet," Roy repeats. He looks suddenly desperate. " _Toilette_ , yes."

Levi doesn't laugh, not because it's not funny, but because laughing is something he doesn't do. Ever, really. He gets out of bed and leads Roy to the small bathroom, where Roy shows every sign of understanding basic plumbing, which is not really a surprise but is also a relief, logistically. Levi doesn't feel up to explaining it word by painful word. Roy gestures to the sink and the bucket of water. " _Can ich mish vashen_?"

"Um," Levi says. "Wash?" He mimes washing his arms.

Roy looks down at himself, sniffs, and wrinkles his nose. It is adorable, not that Levi would admit that on pain of death. "Wash, yes."

"Go for it," Levi says. "I mean, yes. Yes, you can wash. I'll get you a towel. Do you want breakfast? Umm, food?" He mimes biting into something. "Food? To eat?"

"Eat," Roy repeats. He nods. "Food, yes, _bitte._ " He looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it, maybe recognizing the futility of any attempt at more complex conversation. He grimaces and turns to the basin instead. Levi fishes out an extra towel from the small linen closet and hands it to him; Roy takes it with a carefully enunciated "thanks" and shuts the door, so his people must have a concept of privacy too.

Roy makes his way into the tiny kitchenette a short while later, dressed in his trousers and shirt and socks, but not wearing his boots, Levi notes appreciatively. Wherever he comes from, it is not completely uncivilized. His hair is damp and curling at the edges, but several cowlicks have begun to poking up defiantly. He's moving a little stiffly, which is only to be expected, after a day of getting thrown around by Titans and a night of … well. After a night.

Levi hasn't done much beyond stripping the bed and tossing the sheets in the hamper to be laundered as soon as possible; then he put his second pair of sheets on the bed and remade it, because leaving his bed unmade in the morning makes him irritable and anxious. But that means he hasn't made much progress on breakfast beyond putting a kettle of water on for tea, and pulling out the meager contents of his pantry.

"You look better," he says to Roy, who quirks an eyebrow at him in response.

"Um. Good," Levi says, with his hand at his waist. Roy remembers that word, had moaned it breathily into Levi's ear more than once. "Better." He moves his hand up to his sternum. "Best." He moves his hand up again, to around his ear.

Roy's face lights up. "Yes," he says. " _Gut, besser, beste_. Good, better, best." Then he wanders over to the stove and looks at what Levi's amassed: some eggs, a half of loaf of bread, some cheese. Not a feast, by any means, but it'll feed the two of them. "Food," he says with confidence, pointing. Then, more tentatively, "Breakfast?"

Levi nods. "Breakfast."

"Hmm." Roy looks around the kitchen. " _Hast du eine pfanne_? Um. _Eine_ …" He makes a funny little motion with his right hand near the stove, as if he's frying something.

"Pan?" Levi guesses.

" _Pfanne_ ," Roy says. "Pan, yes."

"Yeah," Levi says, and digs it out. Then he frowns. "But I can—"

" _Nein_ ," Roy says firmly. He waves his hand towards the door, makes a shooing motion. " _Lass mich. Du … toilette_. _Waschen."_ He pauses. " _Du_ … You? Toilet. Wash."

Levi's not ordinarily one to give up control in the kitchen, or anywhere, really, but Roy is standing firm and immovable, and there is something about the way he speaks that exudes authority, and it's not just the dozen centimeters Roy's got on him in height. Levi concedes, but only because he really does need to use the toilet and is desperate to wash, not because he's yielding to the tone of Roy's voice or anything.

"Bossy," Levi says. Roy just quirks an eyebrow at him and starts messing with the food.

Bathing is unexpectedly pleasant because the water in the bucket is warm, almost hot. Roy must have been at it with his flame. It must be awfully convenient to have fire at your beck and call, Levi muses as he rinses off the evidence of the night's activities, but he can't imagine it'd ever be so ordinary that you'd waste it for something as mundane as heating water for washing. Still, Levi takes his time in the bathroom. Not that he ever really skimps on bathing, but having warm water makes it feel decadent, almost like a bath. He makes his way back to the kitchen in an unusually good mood.

Roy hums politely at him when he comes in, busy at the stove. The water's boiling merrily. Levi pulls out his tin of tea leaves and shows them to Roy. "Tea?"

Roy sniffs appreciatively. "Yes, _danke_ ," he says, then wrinkles his nose and frowns in a way that is not cute at all. "Yes, thanks."

Levi makes the tea and sets it steeping. Roy's already set the little table for two, with full place settings and everything. Levi's abruptly self-conscious at how shoddy everything looks. It's mostly all second-hand, everything's mismatched and the plates are both chipped. Roy strikes him as the sort of guy who's used to better, someone who'd be comfortable in the fanciest balls at the palace, eating off fine porcelain, with crystal wine glasses and real silverware. Levi can imagine him there, dressed in a fancy suit, hair slicked back, champagne in hand, charming everyone he meets…

What the fuck. Levi tells himself firmly to stop daydreaming, and stops.

Roy turns around from the stove, pan in hand, using a dish towel to hold the handle (so even his hands aren't heat resistant, Levi notes, baffled again). " _Der_ … breakfast," he says. " _Ist fertig._ "

Roy doesn't grandstand when he serves, like some other people Levi knows (cough Erwin cough) but merely doles the eggs out between both plates, slices them some cheese, and gives them each two slices of toast, fragrant with melted butter. Levi had forgotten he'd even had butter, and he hasn't had toast since his oven broke weeks ago. Maybe Roy fixed the oven. Or maybe he used his flame to make the toast, which would be another mundane use of a miracle, but maybe Roy's flame is mundane to him.

Breakfast is nice. The food's warm, and Levi eats three pieces of toast, which feels extravagant. They can't talk much, which is fine by Levi; what conversation they do have is mostly Levi teaching Roy vocabulary. Eggs, bread, cheese, toast. Roy picks the words up quickly; it probably helps that many of them are so similar. Toast, in fact, seems to be the exact same, which amuses both of them.

When they're done eating and have cleaned (sink, soap, rag, towel, wet, dry), Roy leans against the counter, arms crossed, looking pensive. " _Vas varen diese monster_?" He stops and frowns. "What … what is …"

"Monster," Levi says. "Same word."

"Same," Roy repeats. He'd picked that word up quickly too. But then he frowns again. "What is—"

"Are," Levi corrects. "What are those monsters?"

"What are those monsters?" Roy repeats carefully. Then he looks expectantly at Levi.

"Um," Levi says. He doesn't know how to start explaining Titans to someone who hasn't grown up with them, much less to someone who doesn't speak the language. "We call them Titans."

"Titans," Roy says with a nod. "Yes. _Aber …_ what is … are … what _are_ Titans? Titans are … _menschen_?" He scowls, irritated, then gestures to himself and Levi. " _Menschen_?"

The word's almost the same. Levi shrugs helplessly. He doesn't know if Titans are people. He only knew them as monsters, but then he met Eren, and then the other human Titans, and now he doesn't know anything anymore. "Maybe," he says. "Um. Yes"—he nods—"No"—he shakes his head—"Maybe"—he shrugs.

"Maybe," Roy repeats. He sounds dissatisfied, but it's impossible to know if it's with Levi's explanation of the word, or Levi's failure to answer Roy's real question. "Titans are maybe _menschen?"_

 _"_ People," Levi says, correcting Roy's pronunciation slightly. "Maybe people."

"Maybe people." Roy takes a deep breath. It shakes and catches on the way in. The pale light filters through the small kitchen window and makes Roy blur around the edges, a little ethereal and unreal. He looks uneasy and unsettled, like he has a dozen questions but doesn't know how to ask any of them.

Levi sympathizes. "It'll be all right," he says. "There aren't any Titans here. No … no Titans here."

Roy swallows. "No Titans here," he says, nodding. Then, "Good." But he doesn't look any happier, and Levi has to quell the urge to comfort him, because Levi doesn't do that. Even if looks like Roy could really use it.

* * *

Roy is trying very very hard not to freak out. He'd woken from a particularly unsettling nightmare in which Maes had turned into one of those Titan creatures, and realizing where he was, that yesterday had been been real, that he was trapped in some other world or reality or something, had been almost more disorienting the second day than the first.

In some respects he feels better than yesterday; the sex helped, predictably, but he's still off his game. This world's energy – this _world_ , what the fuck? – still feels strange. Too strong, too kinetic. Too _pushy._ Usually transmutation energy's just a buzz at the corner of his mind, something he can call on if he needs to but doesn't think about otherwise. Here, it's invasive, distracting. It's making him antsy. Antsier than the circumstances would account for, anyway. He doesn't understand how everyone is so calm, with those Titans on the other side of the wall. Levi said (Roy thinks) that the Titans can't come through the walls, but in Roy's experience, no wall's impregnable, and this one just looks to be made of stone. Stone is easy to break, if you know what you're doing. Roy could break it without much effort. Alphonse could break through with no effort at all.

After a blissfully ordinary breakfast, Levi takes him on a wandering tour of the base. It is more austere than even the military academy Roy had attended, and a far cry from the grandiose military headquarters in Central, not even up to the level of the considerably less impressive headquarters in East City. Levi is a terse tour guide: his comments brief and infrequent, which is just as well, since Roy understands only a small fraction of what Levi's saying. Roy nods as if he's following better than he is, and tries to figure out what each building is by looking at the people coming in and out.

" _De ziekenzaal_ ," Levi says, nodding at a nondescript building to their left. Roy searches for any kind of cognate and doesn't find one, but there is one injured soldier limping down the stairs and another going up, holding his stomach, so Roy guesses … some kind of medical facility? Or maybe something else entirely, who knows?

Everyone they pass says hello to Levi and stares at Roy, some more openly than others. Roy's used to being stared at, but usually he has a better idea of why. At home, it's mostly because they know he's the Flame Alchemist, and they're frightened/impressed/envious. Sometimes, it's just because he's attractive. Here, it's either because he's a stranger, or because of the alchemy, or maybe even because of his clothing. Strangely, Roy suspects it's most often the clothing. Levi seems to find Roy's uniform amusing for some reason, although it seems infinitely more practical than what everyone here is wearing, with coats that pointlessly cut off at the midriff and provide no protection at all to the vulnerable abdomen, straps and buckles everywhere that must make getting dressed a hellishly long process, and boots past the knees that don't seem very practical for dodging man-eating monsters. And everything's so _tight_. It's practically indecent. (Not that Roy minds the way Levi's uniform clings to his very attractive ass.) Maybe that's what Levi finds so funny about Roy's uniform, how baggy it is in comparison.

Roy gets the feeling Levi doesn't find very many things amusing. Admittedly, there haven't been very many occasions since they'd met for Levi to break out into laughter, but he just doesn't seem the sort. Even in bed, he'd been serious. Intense. Which had been fine with Roy; intensity was exactly what he'd been looking for, and it wasn't like they could have had much of a conversation anyway. But Roy has a sudden urge to find a way to make Levi laugh. Or at least smile. Levi's probably gorgeous when he smiles, Roy thinks.

And then he stops, shuts that train of thought down completely, because that's just deflection. That's Roy finding something normal to focus on in the midst of everything having gone batshit insane all around him. It's a thing he does, has done many times before, will probably continue to do, but this is really not the time or place. Because Levi might be a cute guy Roy spent a pleasant night in bed with, and he probably looks absolutely gorgeous when he smiles, but he lives on another planet or in some other universe or in some alternate reality, and he apparently spends his days fighting man-eating giants, and what Roy needs to be focusing on is getting the fuck home as soon as possible. Not on how to make Levi smile, or laugh. Even though he's probably gorgeous when he does.

 _Stop it, Mustang_ , he tells himself fiercely. 

"Here," Levi says, jerking his head towards a large building constructed of a crumbling brown stone, somehow even more nondescript than the others. Blander.

Roy follows him obediently, hoping he's not going to get locked up again, though not all that concerned about it. He doubts very much they could keep him contained for very long anyway, even if they were so inclined, and he really doesn't think they are. Not after letting him go home with Levi last night.

The building is some kind of barracks, Roy sees as they enter. Not officers' apartments like Levi has, but quarters for junior officers or enlisted soldiers. Probably. Dorms line the halls on the left and the right, with bunk beds and banks of wardrobes.

Levi pokes his head into one of the rooms. There are a few young soldiers milling about, kids, really, some still in their teens. Maybe they've got cadets here too? Levi says something terse and incomprehensible, and Roy bites back a sigh. He can't even tell where one word starts and another stops.

The kids look up at Levi's voice, notice Roy, and leap to their feet. Some of them look vaguely familiar. Roy thinks they might have been lurking around at dinner last night.

" _Is dat hem_?"one of them says, a young brunette with a high ponytail and big brown eyes. She articulates the words clearly, but other than it's probably a question, Roy doesn't have a clue as to what she means. Roy fights down a surge of frustration. It's been less than a day, and he is already exhausted trying to figure out what everyone's saying.

" _Kan hij echt vlam schieten_?" a blond boy asks. That's … almost understandable. Something about can he shoot flame, maybe, which means gossip is just as efficient here as it is at home.

Another boy about Roy's height, with the greenest eyes Roy's ever seen, is standing next to the blond boy. There's a girl on his other side, just as tall, and her gaze on Roy is cool and assessing and not entirely friendly. The boy doesn't seem to share her wariness, staring at Roy with an eager, almost hungry expression. He asks a question. Roy catches a couple of words, _help_ and _Titans_ and _fight_.

Levi doesn't answer. Roy finds himself strangely reassured that Levi isn't committing Roy to anything. "A _vrijwilliger_ ," Levi repeats stonily. A … volunteer? Roy wonders, twisting the sounds around in his head. Levi scans the group, not looking particularly pleased with what he sees. " _Jij, Sasha_."

The girl with the pony tail straightens up and does something with her fist that Roy supposes is a salute. " _Ja meneer!_ " Then more words Roy can't understand.

Levi jerks his head at Roy. Says something short and terse. Roy thinks it's about clothing, though maybe that's just him obsessing over how out of place he feels in his uniform.

" _Ja meneer_!" the girl says, and does the salute thing again.

"Thanks," Levi says to her. He turns to Roy, jerks his head to the girl. "Roy, Sasha. Sasha, Roy."

Roy bows politely, a moderate tilt from the waist, not so deep as to be obsequious. He straightens, and lets a touch of warmth infuse his tone. "Hello, Sasha."

Sasha blushes furiously and snaps her arm up to her chest in a half-salute, though she stops mid-gesture, looking befuddled, like she's just realized that Roy isn't part of her military. Her eyes flicker to Levi, who is standing there with a slightly sour expression on his face, arms crossed, providing no help whatsoever. "Uh, hello?" Sasha says. She looks like she's about to curtsy, then stops that, too, and settles for a quick dip of her head.

Levi says something else to her, a quick short burst of gibberish. Her eyes flit to Roy, and it is absolutely not his imagination that she is staring at his uniform, which suddenly seems outrageously blue among the sedate browns and whites and tans everyone is wearing here. Roy shifts self-consciously, wishing now that he'd left his coat behind in Levi's quarters, but his shirt is dusty and stained and he hadn't wanted to spend his first full day among these people in dirty clothes.

Sasha salutes Levi, this time completing the motion. Levi doesn't quite roll his eyes, but he doesn't salute back, and Roy gets the odd feeling that Levi's rank doesn't sit well with him, or else he thinks it's ridiculous. Roy is reminded, fleetingly, of Edward, who had considered the fact that he had a rank at all to be borderline offensive. " _Een uur_ ," Levi says tersely, which means nothing to Roy. Levi then turns on his heel without another word and heads for the door.

Roy feels a momentary flash of abandonment, coupled with vague unease at being left in the custody of someone he's never met, even if she's a blushing teen. "Levi," Roy says, before he can stop himself. "Will I see you later?"

Levi turns back around and stares at him, frowning slightly, probably just as frustrated as Roy at their mutual unintelligibility. Roy feels like an idiot, half relieved that Levi couldn't understand his clingy plea for reassurance, but also half disappointed. Levi's the only familiar thing here and Roy selfishly doesn't want him to leave.

Levi mumbles something at him, a short stream of words of which Roy understands exactly none, but then pats Roy's arm awkwardly in what is presumably meant to be a comforting manner. An amused murmur runs through the room and Levi flushes hard, then jams his hands in his pocket. He says something short and sharp and maybe a little nasty, and the kids straighten up and wipe the smirks off their faces, looking almost dismayed. They stand at attention until Levi leaves.

The cadets all visibly relax when Levi's gone, and they seem smart enough to realize that peppering Roy with questions won't lead them anywhere, so they drift away to various corners of the room. Roy stands there silently, willing himself to stay calm and at ease. These kids don't need to know how unsettled he is, and Roy is very practiced at appearing relaxed on the outside when he's a wreck on the inside.

Various brushes, brooms, and mops appear from storage cabinets, and the kids start cleaning. It's entirely routine, straightening beds, sweeping the floor, dusting. Normal things. Things Roy himself had done when he was a cadet at the Academy, though he'd been several years older in age, and several lifetimes younger in experience. The teenagers here, the _children_ here, had grown up in the shadow of these Titans.

Roy's own life, as chaotic and unconventional as it had been in Aunt Chris's house, at least had been safe. These kids … well. He doesn't know anything about the lives they'd led before they came here. For one thing, he doesn't really know how much exposure they'd had to Titans, or how long the Titans have even existed. The fact that these kids are in the military when they're still in the throes of puberty leads him to assume their lives hadn't been easy. They remind him of Edward, actually, if slightly less feral.

Sasha taps politely on Roy's arm, jolting him out of his revelry. She jerks her head towards the door. " _Volg mij_ ," she says, _follow me_ , and because Roy couldn't argue even if he wanted to, he does.

* * *

"If he's not a Titan-"

"He's not," Levi says flatly. He cannot believe they are having this moronic conversation.

" _If_ he's not a Titan," Erwin repeats, "then what is he?"

"He's human," Levi says.

"You're only saying that because you slept with him," Hange says with a dismissive hand-wave.

Levi's cheeks do _not_ flush, and he will cut anyone who says otherwise. "That is not-"

"Sex is probably a good test," Hange continues thoughtfully. "Maybe not for identifying Titans, but probably for aliens."

"He's not an alien either," Levi says, exasperated.

"Aliens?" Mike says. "Are we seriously having a conversation about aliens?"

Erwin slaps his hand on the table. "Might I suggest we get this conversation back on track?"

Dirk lifts his head from where he'd been resting it on the table. "There is no track. Or if there was, we jumped it yesterday, when the alien showed up and started shooting fire out of his hands."

"He's _not_ an alien," Levi says. "For fuck's sake."

"You're only saying that because that would mean you fucked an alien," Moblit says, smirking. "Was he good?"

"Fuck off."

Moblit gives him the finger, and Levi considers how much trouble he'd get into if he sliced it off.

"Perhaps we shouldn't be focusing so much on what he is," Erwin says, loudly, "but on what he can do. You've seen him shoot fire. Do we have any idea what other abilities he might have?"

 _He gives great head_ , Levi thinks, but he very carefully does not say it. "We could ask him," is what he says instead.

Erwin turns his steady gaze on him. "As I understand it, his grasp on our language is minimal."

"He learns quickly," Levi says, and is _not_ thinking about how quickly Roy had picked up on everything Levi liked and didn't, how by the end of the night Roy had known exactly where to touch to make Levi fall apart, how he'd had Levi shaking with need … _stop it,_ he tells himself, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "His language seems related to ours, anyhow."

Hange perks up immediately. "Maybe there's another whole group of humans outside the walls! If we used to speak the same language but got separated after the Titans came, the languages could have diverged."

"It's only been a hundred years," Dirk says. "Wouldn't have diverged that much."

"We _think_ it's only been a hundred years," Hange replies. "That's just what everyone says. We don't actually have any evidence one way or the other."

They digest this in silence. "He doesn't know about Titans," Levi says finally. "He thought they were some kind of people. Even if there is another human settlement somewhere, they'd know about Titans."

"Maybe he's from across that sea that Armin's always on about," Dirk suggests. "Maybe they don't have Titans there."

"How'd he get here, then? He swam across this huge mythical salt lake? In that coat and those boots?"

Moblit glares at Levi. "What's your theory then, genius?"

"I don't have a theory, asshole."

Erwin slams his hand down again and glares. "Gentlemen. Back to the matter at hand."

Levi has no idea what the matter at hand is — _don't start thinking about Roy's hands_ , he tells himself fiercely — so he takes a sip of his lukewarm tea instead. He is in the midst of swallowing it when the door opens to admit Sasha, with Roy trailing close behind. Levi takes a look, swallows wrong, and starts choking violently.

He loses a few seconds to the coughing fit, but gets himself back under control in time to shift out from under Hange's overenthusiastic pounding on his back. He shakes his head and wipes his eyes, then opens them to find Roy crouching at his feet, looking up at him with concern. " _Du bist_ … you … is good?"

"I'm fine," Levi chokes. "Fine. Good. Yes."

Roy looks doubtful, but rises to his feet. The movement makes Roy's chest flex in a captivating way, and Levi nearly has another coughing fit. He turns to glare at Sasha, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the residual shudders racking his body. "What the fuck did you do?"

Sasha had been looking smug, but wilts a little under Levi's furious attention. "I got him clothing," she says weakly. "Like you asked?"

Levi gulps down the rest of his tea, which helps soothe his abused throat. "I just said to get him something better than the fucking stupid blue coat."

"This is better," Sasha says. She sounds doubtful. "Isn't it?"

"Oh my god," Hange says, delighted. "Levi's _blushing._ "

"I am not. I was choking, for fuck's sake. Didn't they have anything less …"

"…gorgeous?" Hange finishes sweetly.

"I would have said 'striking,' " Dirk says. He is leaning back in his chair and staring at Roy with interest. Levi shoves down the thread of jealousy squirming ridiculously in his gut.

Even Erwin is staring at Roy appreciatively, which is absurd, because Erwin is the straightest son of a bitch Levi has ever met; he wouldn't recognize a good ass if he was fucking it, not that he ever would be, because he's straighter than a straight line. "Where did you take him," Erwin asks Sasha mildly. "Schneider's?"

Schneider's is the priciest tailor shop in town. Levi could buy a new cravat there, if he wanted to spend a whole month's pay on it.

Sasha looks horrified. "No, sir! We just went through the clothing they've got in storage from the soldiers who … who didn't come back, sir. These fit, and he seemed to like them."

Roy must have picked up enough words to have gotten a bit of an idea what they are talking about. He stares down at his outfit, frowning. " _Ist es nicht gut_?" he asks Levi in a low voice, picking doubtfully at his vest. "It is not good?"

"It's fine," Levi says, in what is possibly the biggest understatement of his life. "It's good."

Roy frowns again. "Fine," he repeats. "Fine … fine _ist_ good? _Ist_ _das_ … is the same?"

"Yes. They're the same." Or close enough, Levi supposes.

Roy scowls, like the concept of synonyms is irritating, which Levi supposes it might be to someone having to learn a new language on the fly. Levi wouldn't know, personally; he only knows the one, plus a couple dozen dialectical swear words from hapless travelers who got sucked into the Underground. Roy looks down at his clothing again, running his fingers lightly over the soft black fabric of the trousers that cling to his legs like they were painted on. The shirt is dark gray and open down to his sternum, the vest black to match the pants and similarly close fitting. Neither the shirt nor vest do anything to hide the muscles of his chest — muscles Levi's gotten to know intimately, and that he wishes he could stop picturing for a moment or two. Roy's got his gloves on, which makes the whole outfit sleek and dangerous. In normal clothing, Roy looks both less foreign and more exotic than he had in his great blue coat and puffy pants; he's compact, fit, and unfairly attractive. Saying that he looks fine, or that he looks good, is like saying that a Titan is big: it's true but also utterly misleading.

" _Sie sind sehr eng_ ," Roy murmurs, now stroking his trousers speculatively, looking faintly displeased. They are … something, Levi thinks. Maybe even very something. Something Roy's apparently not too happy about. Levi thinks the clothes must look peculiar to him, the cut and colors all wrong. He must feel like Levi had felt the first time he put on his Corps uniform. Like he's wearing a costume.

"They're good," Levi says again. "Trust me."

Roy stares at him, repeats "trust me," thoughtfully, then nods. "Okay."

"He's another half-breed, you think?" Dirk asks interestedly. "Like Mikasa? He looks kinda … you know." He makes some sort of motion around his eyes.

Levi frowns at him. "Go ahead," he says. "Call Mikasa a half-breed to her face."

Dirk blanches, and transfers his gaze hurriedly away.

"Dirk may have a point, though," Hange says. "He does look a little like her around the eyes, and nobody knows much about the Oriental clan. They could have powers we don't know about."

"Mikasa doesn't have any special powers," Moblit says, in the tone of one pointing out the obvious.

"She's an Ackerman," Levi says icily.

"I mean, nothing special besides her, you know, super strength," Moblit shoots back. "Like you, Levi. But nothing else. She can't shoot fire from her hands. We'd have noticed."

"Maybe she can," Hange says excitedly. "Maybe she's just never been trained. Maybe Roy can teach her!"

Roy looks up from his examination of his trousers when he hears his name. " _Was_ ," he says quietly to Levi. " _Was sagen sie_?"

Levi runs it through the filter in his head and comes up with a probable translation. He guesses he'd want to know what people were saying about him, too, if he were in Roy's shoes. "Nothing," he says. "Just …" he turns to look at Roy, scrutinizes the slight almond slant to his eyes, the faint amber cast to his skin, the inky black of his hair. It's possible, he concedes. But then again, maybe everyone looks like that where Roy's from, wherever it is. His gets a little dizzy for a moment, imagining a place filled with people who look just like Roy, handsome, dark and gorgeous, before he brings himself firmly back to the matter at hand. "Are you Oriental? Um. _Bist du …_ Oriental?"

Roy looks blank, mouths _Oriental_ slowly. After a moment, he shakes his head ruefully and shrugs. " _Ich verstehe nicht."_

 _Ich,_ that's 'I.' And Levi's pretty sure _nicht_ is 'not.' In which case Roy's probably just saying that he doesn't understand. "I don't understand," Levi says slowly and clearly.

"I don't understand," Roy repeats, after only a beat. " _Aber_ … what is Oriental?"

Levi opens his mouth but snaps it shut again. He can't imagine how he'd use their limited shared vocabulary to describe another clan, one that's all but gone extinct. "Never mind," he says instead. "It's not important."

Roy stares at him blankly, then shakes his head. "I don't understand," he says with a grimace. " _Viele neue wörter."_

Levi sympathizes. It _is_ a lot of new words. "I'll teach you," he says without thinking, and instantly regrets it. The only saving grace is that Roy doesn't look like he understood Levi's stupid, impulsive offer.

Levi's luck only extends so far, however. Hange, with the instincts of a particularly nasty bird of prey, heard every word. "I think it's a great idea. Levi, he's obviously connected with you" — this with a lewd smirk — "so you'll have to come with us."

Levi realizes with a jolt that he has completely lost the thread of the conversation in the rest of the room. "Come with you where?"

"To test Roy's powers," Hange says, eyes glinting and expression a little manic. "We'll set up a target somewhere, away from the wall. Away from anything flammable, obviously. We can test his range, maybe work out a way to measure the intensity of the flame, see how precise his control over it is."

"Maybe he can teach us," Moblit says. "If he is human, maybe we can all learn how to shoot fire like he does."

"It's probably not something we can just learn," Mike says dubiously. "I mean, you'd think someone would have figured it out, if anybody can just do it."

Erwin purses his lips and scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe not. We know we've lost a lot of knowledge, behind the walls. Maybe this is a skill our people used to have." He nods at Levi. "Ask him."

Levi stares at him flatly. "Ask him what, exactly."

"How he does it," Erwin says. His voice is inflectionless, patient. He never lets Levi rile him up, no matter how much Levi wants to.

"He can hardly talk!" Levi says, exasperated.

"He seems to understand you well enough."

Levi scowls, exasperated, then turns to Roy and speaks slowly and exaggeratedly. "They want to know how you do it."

Roy listens, thinks intently, then shakes his head, looking contrite, as if it's his fault he hasn't become fluent in a foreign language in 24 hours. Less than. " _Ich ver_ … _ahm_ , _entschuldigung_. I don't understand."

"The fire," Levi says. "The flame?"

" _Die_ … the flame?" Roy says slowly. He frowns. " _Die flamme_?" He snaps his gloved fingers together, and a small flame flares out of nowhere. It lasts for a few seconds then dies away. "Flame?"

Levi doesn't startle. Much. Hange leans forward, fascinated. "That's incredible. Is it magic?"

Roy pauses. "Magic?" His expression quickly turns exasperated. " _Es ist nicht_ magic _!_ Magic _est nur … nur_ **tricks** _."_ He frowns, leans forward and plucks a coin from behind Hange's ear. Hange blinks. "Tricks," Roy says sourly, slapping the coin — small, silver, strange — on the table. "You understand it?"

Levi considers the likelihood that they hit a nerve.

"Yes, tricks," Hange says. "It's the same word. But if it's not magic, then how do you do it? How do you make the flame?"

"Make," Roy repeats, after a moment of puzzlement, baffled either by the barrage of words or the question itself. " _Machst die flamme?"_ He looks stymied, and shrugs helplessly. " _Es ist alchemie._ "

There is a long beat of startled silence. "Alchemy," Hange breathes, leaning forward greedily.

At the end of the table, Erwin grunts, faced pinched and skeptical. "Alchemy is a myth."

Roy swivels his head to stare at him, his face a strange combination of offense and amusement. " _Ein mythos_?" He snaps his fingers again, and a new flame springs to life above his palm, then dies away without any action on Roy's part that Levi can see. "It is not a myth. _Und_ it is not magic or tricks. It is …" He frowns, hesitating. "… _wissenschaft, wie biologie oder chemie_. You understand?"

"Science," Levi says. "Like biology or chemistry."

"Yes," Roy says, nodding. "Science. Not magic. Not myth."

"But how does it work? How do you make the flame?"

"I … I not make the flame," Roy says, stumbling. "I make _sauerstoff_. You understand what is _sauerstoff?_ " He breathes in and out a few times, waving his hand around in front of his mouth.

The word's very close. "Oxygen," Levi says, "yes."

Roy corrects his pronunciation slightly. "Yes, oxygen. _Aber_ … what is …?" He waves his hand around again. "It is not _alles_ oxygen. What is the word?"

"Air?"

"Air, yes. Air is not _alles_ oxygen. Is …" He pinches his fingers together. "Is oxygen. _Aber_ I make …" He separates his fingers so the gap is bigger. "… _mehr_ oxygen. You understand?"

"More," Levi says slowly. "You make more oxygen in the air."

"More oxygen," Roy repeats. "Yes."

Hange leans forward, excited. "Oh! Then you use the gloves to ignite it? May I see them?"

Roy mouths the words slowly, then looks at Hange for a while, considering. His eyes flick to Levi, asking for what, Levi's not sure. Levi nods anyway, and after a moment, Roy extends a hand across the table.

Hange touches the glove with unusual gentleness, examining it closely, lingering on the pads of the thumb and forefinger. "Special cloth. To make a spark?"

Roy nods. "Yes. Spark."

Hange grins. "Ingenious. And what is this rune?"

"Rune," Roy repeats. He looks down at the glove, fingers flexing slightly into a loose fist. "It … it is for the … the _transmutationsenergie_ ," Roy says. "You understand it?"

"Transmutation energy," Hange says wonderingly. "To change the gases in the air to oxygen."

Roy pauses, then nods. "To change the air to more oxygen. Yes." He looks down at the glove again, pensive, then his eyes drift up to Hange, to Erwin and Moblit and Mike, all around the room until he hits Levi. " _Sie haben hier keine alchemisten?"_

Roy looks puzzled and incredulous and a little forlorn, and Levi feels like shit having to give an answer that's only going to make Roy's day worse. "No, we don't have any alchemists here."

"I understand," Roy says, with a slow and jerky nod, but he looks stricken, and Levi is hit again with the unfamiliar impulse to comfort. He is not going to do anything as sappy as reaching out to pat Roy's arm again or hold his hand, but he does inch a bit closer, closing the gap between them.

From the grateful look Roy shoots him, though, the gesture is not unappreciated.

* * *

Erwin has several other meetings scheduled this morning and eventually dismisses everyone. Hange hustles Roy off to the training ground immediately and insists Levi come too, to help translate and provide moral support. It's probably the first time in Levi's life that anyone has thought his presence anywhere would be comforting to anyone, but Levi can't argue with the way Roy keeps looking over at him as if to make sure Levi hasn't disappeared.

Hange sets up trial after trial, testing Roy's speed, accuracy, and distance, the temperature of the flame, and maybe half a dozen other variables Levi can't even begin to guess at. Roy seems willing enough to participate, even if most of Hange's directions leave him scrunching his nose up in confusion. Levi translates as best as he can, and with a liberal use of hand gestures, they manage to communicate well enough.

Moblit has been conscripted to take notes, and occasionally resorts to sketching when Hange and Levi cannot get a point across to Roy. But Moblit starts getting grumpy and intractable as the sun creeps higher in the sky. "Lunch," he finally says, slamming the notebook closed. "Just because you're all crazy people who don't eat regular meals, doesn't mean the rest of us can go a whole day without eating."

"You had breakfast," Hange says. "A big one."

" _Hours_ ago. Roy's probably going to collapse if we don't feed him soon. It has to take a toll, making magic flame for all this time."

Roy shoots a displeased look in Moblit's direction. "It is not magic _,_ " he grumbles, for easily the dozenth time. Definitely a sore spot.

"Not magic, right, sorry," Moblit says. "Alchemy. But I'll bet you're hungry anyway. You want to eat?"

Moblit speaks very quickly, with a strange hillbilly accent, and Roy blinks at him, brow furrowed. "…eat?" he says eventually.

"Yes, eat." Moblit rubs his own belly. "Are you hungry? You want some food?"

"Food," Roy repeats. He looks sideways at Levi. "Yes?"

"See," Moblit says triumphantly. "He's hungry. Come on, let's go." He grabs Roy by the arm. Roy tenses but doesn't otherwise react, and Levi make a note that Roy doesn't like being touched, though maybe he just doesn't like being touched by Moblit, because he certainly hadn't had any problem with Levi touching the hell out of him last night. Moblit starts pulling him away, chattering about the quality of the food in the mess.

Roy cranes his head around to look at Levi. "You come?"

"Are you coming," Levi corrects. He's not actually hungry, but he's reluctant to leave Roy alone with Moblit, the grabby shit, so he takes a few quick steps to catch up to them and knocks Moblit's hand away from Roy's arm. "Stop dragging him around like a doll," he hisses. "If you piss him off, he might set you on fire." 

"He's not going to set me on fire," Moblit says, but he sounds a little doubtful, and doesn't make any move to take Roy's arm again. Levi counts this as a solid victory.

Lunch itself proves to be largely uneventful. Hange doesn't join them, but instead takes Moblit's notes and disappears, which is fine with Levi, because he has a limit to how many Hange-hours he can stand on any given day, and he's already past it. Roy doesn't seem to mind that he's the obvious object of everyone's attention as they walk to the mess hall: he smiles politely at everyone, and greets all the people they pass, by name when it's someone he's met before (Levi's amazed that Roy remembers them all, and equally amazed by how many people Roy has managed to meet in 24 hours). Roy doesn't set anything on fire, to the obvious disappointment of some of the recruits who seem to be lurking about waiting for a show.

When they sit down in the mess hall, Levi makes sure to maneuver them so that Moblit is sitting on the other side of the table from Levi and Roy, and so will have to keep his hands to himself. The meal is some sort of vegetable stew, cooked for so long that the individual vegetables are no longer identifiable (though Levi's pretty sure he saw at least one carrot at the bottom of his bowl), fresh bread, and ale.

"What is it?" Roy asks, spearing a piece of mushy potato and holding it up on his fork. " _Kartoffel_?"

"Potato," Levi says.

"Hmm." Roy peers at the potato for a moment, then shrugs and eats it. He's a neat eater, even by what Moblit has deemed to be Levi's 'unreasonable standards,' though he uses his utensils funny, shoveling food onto the back of his fork with his knife, and bringing the fork to his mouth upside down. Levi hadn't noticed last night, but now that it's caught his attention, he can't stop staring. It's better than staring at Roy's hands. Roy has taken his gloves off to eat and his hands are broad and strong; the gruesome scars on the back of his hands are ropy and pale pink, but don't seem to interfere with his agility. They certainly hadn't interfered with him using his hands last night. His grip on Levi's cock had been sure and firm.

Levi shifts in his seat and pushes that thought far away.

Roy seems particularly to enjoy the bread, which is unsurprising, as bread is reliably the best part of any meal in the mess, always fresh baked with a crispy crust and fragrant with spices. Moblit demonstrates with a little too much enthusiasm how to use the bread to sop up the extra soup from the stew. Roy watches him closely, bemused, and Levi has to fight back the urge to smack Moblit in the head, because Roy might be foreign but he's obviously not an idiot, and dipping bread in stew is surely universal.

Predictably, Moblit drips all over himself; Levi sees Roy fighting back a grin as Moblit curses, and is unaccountably cheered. After a quick glance at Levi, who is sopping up his own extra gravy much more fastidiously, Roy does the same. " _Gut_ ," he says, when all the bread and gravy is gone, and he has not dripped a single drop. " _Sehr gut_."

"Very good," Levi says.

"Very good."

Moblit's gone off to clean up the mess he made, and he comes back bearing gifts. "Just delivered this morning," he says cheerfully, and drops a couple of bananas on the table.

Levi's surprised. They do not get a lot of fresh fruit in Trost, and bananas are particularly hard to come by, shipped from the west and stupidly expensive. "Who'd they bribe to get a hold of these?"

Moblit shrugs. "Do you really care?"

Levi really doesn't. He loves bananas. Farlan always used to tell him how healthy they were, not that they ever got to eat them in the Underground, except every once in a while when they'd steal them from the police.

Roy, meanwhile, is looking at the bananas dubiously. " _Was …"_ he says slowly. "What is it?"

"They don't have bananas where you're from?" Mike says, picking one up and starting to peel it. "That's weird."

Roy looks blank.

Levi rolls his eyes. "He can't understand you, moron," he says to Moblit. He hands the second one to Roy and says, "It's a banana."

"Banana," Roy repeats. He's holding the banana tentatively, like he doesn't know what to do with it, though he looks it up and down, eyes the shape of it with speculation, then turns and raises an eyebrow suggestively at Levi.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Levi says, coloring. "It's fruit. You know fruit?"

" _Frucht_ ," Roy says, after a skeptical pause. "Yes. _Das ist frucht?"_

"Yes. Here, I'll show you …" Levi plucks the banana from Roy's fingers, carefully removes the peel, and splits the banana in half, keeping half for himself. "Here. Try it. It's good."

"Good," Roy repeats, but he sounds doubtful. "What is 'try'?"

Levi has no idea how to explain that concept. Instead he says, "Just … eat it. Take a small bite. Small." He pinches his fingers together. "Bite." He clicks his teeth together on empty air.

Roy nods. "Small bite. It is the same words." He is very obviously still suspicious of the banana, but he glances again at Levi, sighs and risks a small bite. His face sort of … contorts … but he chews and swallows, clears his throat and takes a sip of water, then makes a noncommittal humming noise.

"Good?" Moblit asks.

" _Ist_ … fine," Roy says. "Good." But he puts the rest of the banana down on the napkin and discretely wipes his fingers, so Levi guesses he's only being polite. " _Frucht_ ," Roy says brightly, eager to change the topic away from bananas. "Fruit. Here, what is _andere_ fruit? _Habt ihr apfel_?"

"Apples?" Levi guesses. "Yes."

"Apples," Roy repeats. " _Birnen_? _Kirschen_?"

Levi's stumped by _birnen_ , but _kirschen_ is practically identical. "Grapes," Levi says.

"Pears," Moblit chimes in. "Must be, right? It's so close." He looks at Roy, who is carefully mouthing 'pears' and 'grapes' to himself. "Shit, he's really got to learn a whole new language word by word?"

"Unless you know some other way to learn a language, yes."

Moblit makes a face. "Well, that's going to suck. You couldn't even explain 'try.' "

"Fuck you too," Levi says blandly. "I'd like to see you do any better."

"I'll leave the fucking to you two," Moblit shoots back, rising to his feet. "Mike said he heard you through the walls and he's going to get a pair of ear plugs if Roy sticks around because you were loud as hell. Good luck with the language tutoring. Hange wants you back on the range in half an hour. Don't be late." He gives a little wave. "See you later, Roy."

Roy smiles, bemused. " _Tschüss_ , Moblit." He waits until Moblit's back disappears into the crowd, then turns to Levi, shrugging apologetically. "I don't understand what Moblit…" But then he pauses, seemingly stymied. "What is … _sprechen_?" He make a funny motion with his hand near his mouth, like a duck bill opening and shutting, and babbles a few foreign words.

"Speak," Levi says. "It's the same word."

Roy looks relieved. Levi supposes it must be easier, the more words that are the same or close. "I don't understand what Moblit speak. It is many new words and … _ehr_ speak _sehr schnell?_ You understand? _"_

"He speaks," Levi says. "He speaks very quickly."

Roy repeats it carefully, nodding. He peers into his mug, frowns, and finishes his ale. " _Ich_ is I," he says next, pensively. " _Du_ is you. _Ehr_ is he. _Und_ what is _sie?_ For … for Sasha or Mikasa?"

"She."

Roy nods, then a glint comes into his eye. " _Und_ Hange? Is he or she?"

That is a conversation Levi is not prepared to tackle, linguistically or philosophically. Instead he says, "Let's work on vegetables. Do you know carrots?" He points to a small piece of carrot sitting forlornly in Roy's bowl.

"Carrot," Roy repeats, and if the way his gaze lingers on Levi's lips sends heat spiraling through Levi's belly, no one needs to know but Levi.

* * *

Roy squints into the sun, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Hange has endless enthusiasm and no mercy, and has kept Roy on the range all afternoon. By the time the sun's starting its slow descent toward the horizon, Roy's exhausted. He hasn't used this much alchemy in a single day since he was training with Master Hawkeye, and he was a hell of a lot younger then. Now that he's older and had more practice and training, each individual transmutation's easier, and of course he has Truth's knowledge crammed into his brain which helps even if he doesn't fully understand how, but age has also made remarkably less resilient. "Achy like an old man," Edward teases him sometimes, and Roy has to refrain from shooting back, "just you wait" because Edward will get older but he's not ever going to know how it feels to let alchemy flow through 31-year-old bones, and Roy's occasionally obnoxious but he isn't mean.

What he is, at the moment, is tired and sore and jittery. He's lost count of how many transmutations he's performed, he's bruised and aching from getting tossed around by Titans yesterday and spending hours on a horse — a _horse_ ; for God's sake, do they not have cars here? — and he's a special kind of sore from spending the night very thoroughly fucking Levi.

Beyond that, beyond the exhaustion and the achiness, he's frustrated by this world's transmutation energy. It's way too much, and it's way too _wrong_ ; he can use it just fine but the results are unpredictable: the flames burn hotter than he's used to and reach farther than he expects, but when he tries to correct for that he often just makes it worse. His aim is usually impeccable but he keeps missing the target here, and his inability to precisely gauge the strength and distance of his attacks is making him anxious. Close is not good enough. Close leads to ashes and ruins and death. In Ishval, Roy didn't care what he burned. He was too focused on the enemy to worry about collateral damage, but he's more cautious now, more aware that everything he destroys will have to be rebuilt.

Flame starts easy but stops hard. It's not so much a problem on the practice range today, and it wasn't a problem yesterday out there beyond the wall where there was nothing to burn but Titans, but there's an entire city full of people here, with homes and lives, and Roy can't risk being the one who destroys everything.

Hange has made him do a couple million transmutations, and he thinks maybe he's finally starting to figure out how to modulate the energy better, even if his aim is still crap. But he feels drawn and tight, like he's got electricity running through his veins lighting every nerve and drying him out. He's drained and antsy at the same time, and on top of his everything, his head's spinning with all the new words he's trying to memorize.

"Water?" Levi asks, and hands him a cup.

Levi. Of course, throwing another whole huge fucking wrench in the works, there's Levi. Levi might be the biggest problem of all.

"Thanks." Their fingers brush, and even through the cloth of his gloves, it's enough to make Roy's stomach flip. Roy swears he feels a subtle thrum of energy humming just beneath the surface of Levi's skin. It's kind of addictive. Every time they touch Roy only wants to touch Levi _more_.

Having Levi here is a blessing and a curse. He is quiet and intent but just very, very _present_ , always there in the corner of Roy's eye, with a hand on Hange's arm whenever Roy needs a moment to catch his breath, always there with a drink when Roy's feeling parched. Levi says very little when he is not trying to translate Hange's instructions, but he is always watching, standing with his arms crossed, evaluating. He's less easily impressed than Hange, at least less outwardly so, but he's assessing all the same, and Roy can't help but respond to it. It's instinctual, the need to prove himself, the need to be noticed and appreciated.

Levi's gaze is clinical, but every once in a while when he's watching Roy, heat flashes so brightly in his eyes that Roy finds himself flushing. He can't stop thinking about Levi yesterday fighting the Titans, the way he'd moved. So fast, so graceful, so lethal, like Edward in a way, but impossibly more intense and enthralling. The small portion of Roy's brain that isn't mesmerized by those memories is busily reviewing every moment of the previous night, which had been just as breathtaking in an entirely different way.

His face grows warm just thinking about it, and he runs a finger around his collar. Levi's eyes track the movement, his eyes analytical and dispassionate, but Roy sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, so at least Roy isn't alone in his utterly inappropriate preoccupation.

Hange waves an obnoxious hand in his face to get his attention. Roy sighs and finishes his water, passing the cup back to Levi, brushing their fingers together deliberately, feeling a distant tingle that he's only half convinced is his imagination. Levi swallows again, throat bobbing and eyes glazing slightly. Roy turns back to Hange, vaguely aroused and thoroughly disconcerted.

This is a problem. This is a big, unprecedented problem. True, the sex with Levi had been spectacular, but Roy has slept with more people than is socially acceptable in most cultures he's familiar with, and he's had plenty of spectacular sex before. But this rush, the flutter in his stomach, the way his breathing hitches every time their eyes meet, the way he wants again what he's already had once … it's not normal for Roy. For Roy half the thrill is the chase, and the other half is the discovery, and he shouldn't be feeling like this, when he's already chased and he's already discovered. He shouldn't keep looking at Levi and _wanting_.

And yet he wants, whether he should or not. Roy's a liar by trade but not usually to himself, so all right, he can admit it, he's attracted to Levi, no matter how strange it is. Roy scowls, grinds his teeth, forces himself to be even more honest. He's _strongly_ attracted to Levi.

_There, that wasn't so hard, was it, buddy?_

Roy silences Maes's voice in his head with a curse, then exhales shakily and forces himself to unclench the fist he hadn't even realized he'd been making. Attraction is not such a bad thing, he reasons, even if it's distracting. Maybe being attracted to Levi is good, in that it gives him something else to obsess about besides his own disorientation and terror. If he focuses too much on what is actually happening, that he's lost and alone on another world or in another universe, he'll probably go crazy.

Hange points at a distant target and says, " _Alstublieft_ " which Roy thinks means 'please,' though he's not entirely sure. Hange doesn't seem the sort to ask politely in the ordinary course of events. Still, Roy decides that he will believe that word means please until he learns for sure otherwise, and in any event, regardless of what Hange said, it's obvious what Roy is meant to do. He has been doing it all afternoon.

Roy snaps his fingers obligingly, feeling the energy surge and flare. He ignores the oddity, the wrongness, and focuses instead on modulating the flow and twisting the transmutation into shape. It feels harder than it should be. He's been pushing himself a bit too far, maybe. His teeth clench with effort and his vision blurs; his head's pounding in time with his heart but he manages to direct the fire where he wants it to go. Flame licks the center of the target and nothing else.

Moblit whoops and calls out something from the sidelines where Hange has him taking notes. Roy thinks it's meant to be encouraging, and Roy will take the praise even if he doesn't understand what the words mean. _You're so easy_ , Maes used to say with a grin, when Riza would flatter Roy into doing something he'd sworn he wouldn't do, but Riza's compliments are like diamonds, rare and dazzling and precious, and Roy's inability to resist them isn't a weakness so much as the natural order of the universe.

Levi materializes at Roy's side again, not with water this time, and — oh, Roy hadn't realized he'd been swaying until Levi's hand on his elbow helps him regain his balance. Good lord, that's embarrassing. Edward would never let him live it down, and even Alphonse, the more sensible, infinitely more polite Elric, would frown at Roy disapprovingly and say, "You should know better by now, General," and of course Riza's expression would be so _disappointed_ , like Roy was trying to make her life difficult on purpose, which he never is; it's just an unavoidable side effect of his existence around hers.

Levi says something to Roy but Roy's too dizzy to parse the syllables into something resembling words. His legs are shaking and his pulse is pounding in his ears; he feels hot all over. Roy realizes with sudden alarm that he is on the verge of passing out. _Idiot_ , he thinks dimly, _when was the last time you ate?_ Running on fumes already, exhausted and stressed; he's been transmuting all fucking day and it will serve him right if he faints in the dust at Levi's feet.

 _Fool_ , Master Hawkeye said to him that one time, when he'd been so focused on mastering a particular transmutation that he'd worked straight through lunch and dinner and had collapsed outside on the back lawn. Hawkeye had been furious, standing over Roy with his hair a wild floating halo of rage. _Idiot boy. I should send you back to your whore of an aunt. You're too stupid to train._

 _Sorry_ , Roy had said abashedly to Riza a few minutes later, after she had poured some sugar water down his throat and was staring at him with a complicated expression: irritation, exasperation, and fondness all mixed up. _Sorry, tell him I'm sorry and I won't do it again._

And he hadn't. Never. Not even in Ishval, where he'd be out in the field for hours at a time. He always made sure to pace himself, and he always had food stashed away, something sweet, because he was impulsive and reckless but he wasn't a fool, no matter what Master Hawkeye thought. Not usually, at any rate.

With a contemplative frown at Roy, Levi pulls a neatly wrapped apple from his pocket and hands it over. "Eat," he says tersely.

Roy is torn by conflicting desires: to swallow the apple whole, and to kiss Levi. Practicality wins, mainly because Roy doesn't think he has the coordination necessary to kiss Levi at the moment, though that is definitely something on his to-do list for later. He strips his gloves and puts them safely in his pocket; he has only the one pair and doesn't want to stain them with apple juice. Staring at the apple, he decides that swallowing it whole will only lead to him choking to death, so he settles for swallowing it in four or five enormous bites.

Levi's nose crinkles in distaste, and Roy would be embarrassed over his lack of manners if he weren't about to keel over.

He does not eat the core, though it's a near thing, and gratefully takes the water Levi materializes as if by magic. When he's finished with the water he feels better. Transmutation sickness dissipates as quickly as it comes once a little sugar gets in his system. He's left only a little shaky and a lot humiliated, but if no one here's ever met an alchemist, then maybe no one knows how stupid Roy has just been.

The sun is a little farther down over the horizon now, shadows slipping long and lazy across the sandy ground, painting the area in shades of soft gold. There's still plenty of light to see by, but in a little while, an hour, maybe two, there won't be, and maybe by then Hange will have had enough for the day. Roy reaches a hand up to rub at his neck. His muscles are stiff, aching; he stores tension there no matter how much he tries not to. Levi frowns at him and grabs his hand.

Reckless shivers erupt up and down Roy's spine. _What the hell_ , he thinks to himself irritably, _get a hold of yourself, Mustang._ That's it. He's going to have to deal with this. Fuck Levi again, get it out of his system.

If Levi's similarly affected, he doesn't show any sign of it, but he's staring intently at Roy's hand, letting it rest gently in his own palm, watching as it trembles.

God damn it. Roy pulls his hand back and folds it into a fist, like that's going to change anything, when Levi has already seen.

Levi raises an eyebrow at him, says something dry and wry. Roy doesn't need to understand the words to understand the tone. Levi turns on his heel. "Hange," he calls out. "That's enough."

For once, Roy can understand him perfectly. The words are almost exactly the same, another linguistic oddity that Roy can only be grateful for. Not as grateful as he is that Levi is calling a halt to this, stony and impassive as Hange erupts into irritable dissension, but while Hange is excitable, Levi is implacable, standing small and resolute and utterly unyielding. In the end, Roy supposes, Levi will win if only because Hange cannot actually force Roy to perform alchemy. He has been willing to humor the experiments because it is critical that he remain in these people's good graces, but at the end of the day, they cannot force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. Still, it's easier to have Levi be the one on Hange's shit list.

Eventually, Hange yields, poor temper evaporating when Moblit delivers a notebook full of observations. Hange wanders off, nose buried in the book, muttering nonsense — nonsense to Roy, at any rate — and Moblit gives a cheery wave and says something that may mean, "See you tomorrow." Or perhaps nothing like that at all.

And then Roy and Levi are the only two left on the field. The sunlight is pale and tired, painting the dusty training range in muted yellows and gold. The field is quite pretty, actually, when Roy's not looking at it as a collection of burnt out targets. Roy is tired and sore and still a little hungry, his feet hurt and his fingers ache and he feels wrung out like an old wet rag. But Levi is standing right next to him, and Roy can feel the potential energy in the air; if Roy touched Levi, he's sure he'd spark, like when Roy was young and would drag his feet along the carpet in the upstairs hallway of the bar, past the mysterious private rooms to which he was forbidden entry.

Levi has settled into some kind of resting stance, arms crossed loosely across his chest. He's evaluating the targets in their varying degrees of ruin. Where Hange had looked predatory, Levi looks simply thoughtful. Finally, he turns back to Roy, and it is definitely not Roy's imagination that Levi's eyes linger a little too long on Roy's neck, at a spot where Roy knows he's sporting an impressive hickey just beneath the collar of his new shirt.

A few seconds tick by. Standing this close together, without Hange or alchemy as a distraction, Roy is intensely aware of Levi's scent, faint and a little musky, a lingering hint of soap still clinging to him even after a day spent out in the dirt and dust of the range. A small leaf, torn and withered, has somehow wedged itself into the fold of Levi's collar, marring the otherwise fussy perfection of Levi's uniform. Before he can think better of it, Roy plucks the leaf out, holding it up for Levi's inspection before letting it blow away on the faint breeze.

Levi tenses at Roy's touch, and his eyes flit up to Roy's face, dark and intent. He breathes in and it's cracked, unsteady; his expression a little uncertain. Levi swallows twice before he says "thanks" and his voice is rough and husky.

Roy reaches out again, no leaf for an excuse this time, but feeling bold because Levi isn't moving away. He strokes gently at the spot where Levi's cravat is hiding a bruise matching the one on Roy's neck. When his fingers touch Levi's neck he's sure he does feel a spark, and static electricity or not, it makes him shiver. Levi shivers too, eyes fluttering closed for a second before he opens them again. Determination settles across his face and he grips Roy's wrist.

"Come with me," he says clearly, and tugs at Roy's arm to follow.

Roy does.

* * *

When they get back to Levi's quarters, Roy is on Levi before the door has clicked shut, pushing him back against the wall and latching onto his neck like a goddamn vampire, sucking hard enough to bruise. Levi previously had no idea his neck was so sensitive, but holy shit, it is. Every swipe of Roy's tongue shivers through him like feathers and blades. Then Roy bites down, nearly breaking skin; Levi lets out an embarrassing keening noise and sags back against the wall, the only thing keeping him upright Roy's body braced against Levi's own. Roy's dick is already hard, throbbing against Levi's leg, so Levi pushes his hips forward, presses _hard_. Roy jerks and moans into Levi's neck, breath hot and unsteady; he inhales raggedly and bites down harder. Levi's entire body trembles. _Holy fuck_ , Levi thinks dazedly. His head is spinning. _Holy fucking fuck._

Levi reaches around and under Roy's vest and shirt, desperate to reach bare skin. He's been thinking all day about getting Roy back here and naked again, since the minute he'd woken up with Roy lying there next to him, bathed in sunlight, covered with love marks that Levi had given him and scars that Levi hadn't. All day long, hours and hours, staring at Roy in that goddamn fuck-me outfit, watching him spin fire out of thin air like some sort of ancient elemental god, remembering last night and aching and _wanting._

It seems Roy's on the exact same page, reading the exact same paragraph, because he's already fumbling with Levi's shirt, attacking the buttons with single-minded focus.

Levi manages to drag in just enough air to say, "Bed."

"Same word," Roy manages, but his voice is hoarse, and he's just as unsteady on his legs as Levi when they lurch into the bedroom, limbs tangling together ** _,_** shedding clothing with every step.

 _Too fast_ , Levi thinks, crashing down onto the bed, _it's too goddamn fast_ ; he'd wanted it to be slower but there is no way that is happening now; his blood's singing and he can almost see the alchemy pulsing liquid gold beneath Roy's skin. So it won't be slow; it's going to be fast and frantic, and that's okay, it's fucking _perfect_. Roy grips hold of his cock and squeezes. Levi groans and curses, bucking underneath Roy's fingers, desperate for more in a way he can't quantify and doesn't understand. It's hormones, pheromones, what-the-fuck-mones; attraction has never made sense to Levi: Erwin is objectively handsome, but there may be nobody in the world Levi has less interest in having sex with. Levi doesn't even _know_ Roy but it doesn't matter. Levi wants him anyway, today and tomorrow and the next day too, in every conceivable way. He grips Roy's hips and pulls, grinding their bodies together, and thinks dizzily that he has never in his life felt anything better than this.

Roy shudders at Levi's touch, mumbling something unintelligible right into Levi's ear, voice as dark and intoxicating as the finest wine. He thrusts restlessly against Levi's leg, his own cock hot and leaking. " _Unglaublich_ ," he murmurs, " _du bist unglaublich,"_ and Levi has enough brain function left to wonder what that means, but not enough to ask.

Roy's clutching at him, fingers scrabbling for purchase, skin hot and slick and sweaty where they're pressed together. " _Ich möchte…_ " he gasps. _I want_ , Levi thinks, though the word is not the same so he's not sure how he knows that. Roy doesn't finish the sentence but it doesn't matter; Levi wants too, and he probably couldn't articulate what exactly it is that he wants any better than Roy can.

Levi wraps a leg around Roy's waist and grinds their cocks together. Roy's groan is long and loud and filthy, plush like velvet, heady with lust. It sends shivers up and down Levi's spine. Roy's cock jerks where it's trapped between their bodies, and Levi pushes up again in reflexive response, then again and again. Roy stiffens suddenly, stares down at Levi in something like shock, his eyes wide and dazed, gorgeous. Levi has just enough time to realize that Roy's going to come from this alone before he does.

Roy dives down to cover Levi's mouth with his own, swallowing Levi's groan as Levi's brain shorts out and everything goes blissful and white. Roy's shuddering against him, gasping into Levi's mouth, and just because they're coming at the same time doesn't make Levi's orgasm any better … except that it kind of does, really. (Who's he kidding? It absolutely does.)

Levi floats back down after a little while. Roy's collapsed on top of him, dead weight, warm and sticky. Levi pushes at him ineffectually. Roy groans — not the good kind of groan — and rolls over. " _Scheisse_ ," he mumbles. Levi's pretty sure that's a curse. " _Entschuldigung, das war schnell_."

Hell yes, that was fast. The words are almost exactly the same, except for _entschul…_ whatever, but Levi's guessing it's some kind of apology, given the context. "It's okay," he says. "Really. It was good."

Roy hums in agreement. Then he says blandly, " _Aber_ , not good."

Levi turns to stare at him. Well, he turns his head. The rest of his body is still suffering some kind of post-coital paralysis. Levi hopes no Titans attack in the next five minutes, because he'll be dead. "Not good?"

"No," Roy says. He lifts his hand, holds it slightly above his stomach — glistening with various bodily fluids, but still flat and muscled and attractive. Levi resists the temptation to reach out and touch.

"Good," Roy says mildly. He raises his hand. "Better." He raises his hand again. "Best." He quirks as eyebrow at Levi, grinning saucily. "It is best, yes?"

"Smug bastard," Levi shoots back. "And it _was_ best. Was, not is."

"Was," Roy repeats, slow and lethargic. He doesn't look like he's falling asleep, but he doesn't look like he's in any shape to fight off Titans either. If there's an attack, they'll both be dead.

"We don't say that," Levi adds, as an afterthought. "We'd say, it was great." He manages to lift one hand up, like Roy had. "Good." He lifts his hand as high as he can manage. "Great."

Roy hums, then speaks slowly and with careful enunciation. "It was great." He stretches and settles more comfortably into the mattress. "What is 'we'?"

That's an easy one, finally. "You and I," Levi says. "You and I is we."

"We," Roy says. "We is good." He grins at Levi, and Levi feels a funny little thump in his chest.

"We _are_ good." They are. It's kind of scary, how good they are. Maybe it's because Levi hasn't had sex in so long, maybe it's because most of his other lovers … weren't, really; mostly he'd had quick fucks for convenience, and that had been fine, he'd never wanted more. Except for Farlan and Isabel, of course, and it had been different with them. Not better, maybe, just different. He'd been awfully young then, they'd been even younger. Having sex hadn't felt so much like he was exposing himself.

"Roy," Levi says. "What does _ungau_ … _ungaubich_ mean?"

" _Unglaublich_ ," Roy says. He opens his mouth and shuts it, stymied. "It is … do you know _glauben?_ It is … to know, _aber_ not here"— he points to his head. "Here." He points to his heart.

Levi considers this for a bit, and then he gets it, he thinks. "Oh. _Geloven_." To believe.

" _Und unglaublich,_ it is, not is believe?" Roy looks a little disgusted, and shakes his head. "I don't know the words to speak."

" _Ongelooflijk_ ," Levi supposes. Then he smirks. "You think I'm unbelievable?"

Roy looks at him sideways, mouth twisted. "Do I speak you are unbelievable?"

"You did. And it's 'did you say,' " Levi says. "Not 'do you speak.' "

Roy sighs, looking put upon. "What is say? It is not speak?"

"If we're going to spend the evening learning new words," Levi says, forcing himself up and off the bed, which is much harder than it ought to be. "We're going to need food. Wait here."

Roy either understands or else he is feeling similarly enervated. When Levi comes back from the mess with food, he finds Roy passed out in the bed, but Roy rouses easily enough when Levi shakes him awake for dinner. They eat at Levi's small table in the kitchen. Dinner is noodles and beans and mushrooms, with bread and butter and a fruit tart for dessert. Roy eats it all without complaint, without even much awareness, it seems to Levi, like someone used to eating whatever is put in front of him, as long as it's not too objectionable (like bananas, apparently). Military, Levi thinks again, remembering the epaulettes and ribbons all over Roy's strange blue coat.

That makes Levi wonder if there will be more of Roy's army coming, if he's the first agent of an invading force, or just some unlucky soldier who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Levi tends to think it's the latter: Roy had clearly not been expecting to encounter Titans, and there is nothing in their world worth invading for. Though neither of those things conclusively rule out a deliberate invasion, Levi just doesn't believe it. Levi is pretty sure that Roy's shock at finding himself here was unfeigned. That doesn't mean that no more of Roy's army will be coming, of course; if he's gotten lost, his people may be coming for him. Levi would come for him, and he's known him for all of two days.

"Will your people come get you?" he asks, lazily stroking Roy's arm. They had moved back to the bed at some point during the language lessons. Roy's a quick learner, but teaching him the different question words had been unexpectedly difficult, involving a lot of pantomime and ridiculous gestures; they'd gotten a little punchy and a lot ridiculous, and at some point Levi had twisted in a weird way and had pulled a muscle in his neck, and Roy had volunteered to massage the ache away, and then … well. Then they'd ended up back in the bed.

Roy's quiet for a moment, then he shakes his head slowly. "No, I don't believe it. They don't know where I am." He laughs, but it's rueful. " _I_ don't know where I am. I don't know why … no. How. I don't know how I come here. It is alchemy, but I don't know it."

Huh, Levi thinks. So there are different kinds of alchemy than just fire, and knowing one doesn't mean you know them all. That's interesting information, if mostly useless, if all Roy knows is fire alchemy.

"Well, you can stay here with us," Levi says. "While you try to figure out how to get home. And you probably didn't understand any of that."

"Sorry," Roy says after a beat. "I don't understand what you say."

"Said. Say is … now. I say something now. But if it was before, that's said. And you didn't understand that either, did you."

Roy shrugs helplessly. "I don't understand. Sorry."

For the thousandth time, Levi wishes he were better at this. "You can … do you know can?"

"Yes … ? Is a same word?"

"You can stay here," Levi says slowly. "You can stay here with us. Do you understand?"

Roy nods. "It is the same." He smiles, and if it's a little sad, it's also grateful. "Thank you, Levi." Roy stares up at the ceiling for a little while, then turns onto his side and looks at Levi with a hint of something hot and wild and desperate. Forced, maybe, but not false. "Is good I stay with you."

His voice is low and rough, and he has a glint in his eye that Levi already recognizes. Fuck, Levi thinks, again, really? Levi's known Roy's for hardly any time at all, but it's already clear how he deals with his anxiety. But … well … Levi can't actually complain. Having sex is less destructive than other ways Roy might react, and it's worked out to Levi's benefit so far. "Yeah," Levi says, rolling onto his back and opening himself up to Roy's hungry gaze. "It's good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SapphireMusings gets credit again for the chapter title. :)
> 
> And okay, I knew this was going to be a niche story, but I don't think I realized exactly _how niche_.
> 
> Nevertheless, she persisted. I hope all of you reading it are enjoying it!


	4. Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy is still not okay, and Levi is an idiot. Trigger warning for a panic attack in the first section.
> 
> Roy:  
> Roy stills, suddenly shivering, and not just from the icy water. No other alchemists. He's all alone here. Anxiety rises like floodwater and swamps him. He bends over and grips the sink, breathing hard. Fuck it, he has got to get himself under control. He can't just … can't just keep panicking like this; he's fine, he's fine, he's _fine_ …
> 
> Levi:  
> Anxiety twists his stomach for an instant, but he shoves it down and away. This is not the time to get distracted by his own inappropriate feelings, his anxiety that after two days he's already struggling to accept that one day, Roy's going to leave.

Roy wakes up when the morning sun creeps through the crack in the curtains. It's warm and bright and comfortable, and Roy spends a minute trying to convince himself that when he opens his eyes, he'll be home, maybe with a massive hangover and a really bizarre dream to tell the team about. Fuery will try to analyze it, and Jean and Heymans will want to hear all about the sex parts, and Riza will just frown at him inscrutably, especially if he tells Jean and Heymans about the sex parts. But the sun's hitting his left cheek instead of his right, and the thin stream of air wafting across his chest is blowing from the wrong direction, and the scents and sounds and everything else are all wrong too.

Sighing, Roy opens his eyes. He's in Levi's bed, alone, but the fact that he's here at all means that everything that he remembers about the last two days is real, not a dream. He lies still for a moment, staring at a crack in the ceiling, but the nonsensical truth doesn't become any easier to grasp or any more palatable. A sick sour feeling settles in his stomach, and he has to breathe in several times, slow and deep, to chase away the rush of panic.

Water splashes faintly from the bathroom. It sounds like water in any other bathroom anywhere Roy's ever been, and the mundanity of it helps to jostle his anxiety away, and also explains where Levi is, though Roy has a fuzzy recollection of rolling over in the middle of the night in an empty bed, so perhaps Levi's been gone for a long time. That's vaguely unsettling, maybe a little ominous. Roy's used to being the one who bails out, not the one who gets bailed on.

Well, it's a bit too early — in the morning, in the relationship, take your pick — to be worrying about who's bailing on whom. Roy sits up slowly, stretching out his back, which lets out a distressing symphony of cracks and pops that serve only to remind him that he's not getting any younger. A decade of running around the sands of Ishval and battling homunculi has taken its toll. It doesn't bode well for his future self. He's only 31. He doesn't really want to guess what he'll be like at 40 or 50. Probably creaky and bitchy and hunched over his desk squinting at endless paperwork, and even so Riza won't take any pity on him, because she never has in the past and there's no reason to assume she will in the future—

—With a sudden lurch, his stomach drops to somewhere around his ankles and settles in. The panic he'd thought he'd banished returns twice as strong, and he's immobilized with it for a moment, tense and shaking. Then he swings his feet around and plants them on the ground, folds over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and breathes deep. _One at a time, buddy_ , he hears in his head, and he tries his hardest to obey.

" _Ben je oke_?" he hears from somewhere over his shoulder, and it's a few seconds before his brain can translate it. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he says automatically, even though he is at this moment anything but. But he breathes in and out a few times and that makes him feel a bit better. He lifts his head from his hands and forces a smile at Levi, who is standing in the doorway, luminescent in the sunlight streaming through the curtain. He's wearing trousers and a shirt, but the shirt's untucked and unbuttoned, and Roy can count every single abdominal muscle Levi possesses, which he suspects is more than ordinary humans. Levi's breathtaking. If there is any consolation prize to having been tossed head over heels through the universe, it is that Roy has gotten to meet Levi and his abdomen.

Levi looks a little doubtful that Roy is actually okay but doesn't press it, for which Roy's grateful. He doesn't think his equanimity could withstand any pressure at the moment. Levi's focused instead on the scar on Roy's stomach, which looks particularly red and ugly in the morning light.

" _Wat is er gebeurdvi_?"

What is … something. Something to do with the scar, obviously. Roy glances down at it reflexively. It really is horrible; he usually doesn't let himself look at it. Roy tries to think of a way to explain it with the few words of Levi's language that he knows. "A monster," he says slowly, picking through his limited vocabulary. "Not a Titan. Another monster. It try to kill me. Stab … you know the word?"

Levi nods. "It's the same."

"It stab me," Roy says. "It stab me very bad. I use flame to make the … the _blut_ not come." He frowns, knowing he sounds like a toddler and hating it. It feels like his first few weeks in Ishval, struggling for words until he'd picked up enough of the language to not feel like an idiot every time he opened his mouth. "You understand?"

"Blood," Levi said, but he looks disconcerted. "You used fire on _jezelf_?"

"Yes. There is many blood. I die _ob_ I do not make the blood not come."

Now Levi looks a little queasy. " _Deed het pijn_?"

Roy has no idea what that means. "I don't understand?"

A look of consternation flits across Levi's face, but not impatience, though part of Roy is already waiting for the moment Levi decides he's had enough of playing translator, and sloughs Roy off on somebody else. It seems inevitable. Everyone gets tired of babysitting Roy sooner or later. ( _Not everybody, buddy_ , he hears in his head, but he ignores it.)

Levi is not abandoning him yet, though. " _Pijn_ ," Levi says, then pinches his own arms and makes an exaggerated expression of dismay. "Ouch!"

Ah. "Yes," Roy says. "It hurts very bad." Then he adds hastily, "Not … it not hurts today. It hurts when I do it."

Levi seems to be relieved, but also maybe a little perplexed, though he doesn't ask any more about the scar. Roy's mostly relieved that he won't have to figure out a way to answer any complex questions about homunculi. Not being able to communicate is exhausting. He hasn't even gotten out of bed yet and he's already tired.

Levi seems to be able to sense it, somehow. "Toilet?" he asks. "I make breakfast."

Roy nods and heads off to the bathroom, grabbing his clothes on the way. They are rumpled and creased, and he wishes now he'd taken a little more care when stripping out of them; it's not like he's got a closet full of recently laundered white shirts waiting for him. He's going to need more clothing if he stays here, obviously. He's going to need a lot more things, and a way to pay for them, probably, assuming they use currency here, which seems a safe bet if only because Roy's never heard of a place where they don't. Although Roy's never heard of a place where they have hordes of 15-meter monsters running around either, and yet here he is, so maybe they don't use currency after all.

His skin prickles nervously and he splashes water on his face, grimacing. The water's unpleasantly chilly. He left his gloves in the other room, which was a mistake in retrospect. He'd forgotten the only running water here is cold. Currency, he thinks firmly. Maybe barter? If they don't use currency here, they must have some kind of barter system. It's what the Ishvalans relied on for day-to-day transactions, and his aunt too, for most of the repair-work she'd needed over the years. Services for services, which would work out well for Roy. Flame alchemy isn't only good for destroying things, and Roy's reasonably competent with stone and metals. Nothing to brag about back home, but certainly more than good enough here, where there aren't any other alchemists to be compared to.

Roy stills, suddenly shivering, and not just from the icy water. No other alchemists. He's all alone here. Anxiety rises like floodwater and swamps him. He bends over and grips the sink, breathing hard. Fuck it, he has got to get himself under control. He can't just … can't just keep panicking like this; he's fine, he's fine, he's _fine_ …

"Roy?"

"Sorry," Roy says to the sink. He can't stand up. He can't do anything but breathe, and even that he's doing poorly: his breaths are too fast, too shallow. His head's spinning.

Levi crouches down next to him, touches him tentatively on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Roy wants to lie and say he is, because maybe by saying it he'll make it true. But 'no' comes out of his mouth anyway, soft and terrified.

Levi disappears for a moment while Roy desperately tries and fails to get any sort of grip on himself. Then Levi reappears soundlessly and settles down on the floor. "Here," he says, holding a glass out. "Drink. It's water."

Roy can't let go of the sink or he's going to spiral away. "I can not," he manages. "Sorry."

Levi reaches for him again, this time to grab his hand. He's so strong. His grip feels like steel, solid and grounding. "You can," he says firmly. "You can." Levi peels Roy's fingers away from the sink one at a time; if he feels them shaking, he doesn't comment on it. Slowly, he tugs Roy down to sit on the floor next to him, the tile wall cool at his back. Levi presses the water into Roy's grip, helps raise the glass to his lips. "Drink."

Roy's vision blurs and wavers, and for a second he's in a dusty tent with a sand floor beneath him and it's Maes at his side, pressing water into his hands, and that is wonderful as much as it is unbearable. Maes/Levi tells him to drink. Roy is stubborn by nature, but every once in a while he does what he's told. He sips and gags and almost chokes but Maes/Levi's hand is on his neck, and that helps. With effort, Roy swallows.

 _Good_ , Maes had said then. "Good," Levi says now.

Good is about the farthest thing in the world away from how Roy is feeling. His breathing is still all wrong. _In and out, buddy,_ he hears, but he can't obey this time; Maes doesn't understand what it feels like when the panic sets in like this; Maes has never felt his chest constrict and throat seize and heart pound so hard it drums out everything else. Maes is always calm, Maes is always controlled, Maes is … Maes is _dead_ and Roy is _lost_ and he thinks he's going to die right here, choking on nothing but his own irrational fear.

Maes squeezes his hand so hard Roy grunts in pain, but the flare of agony cracks through the hazy confusion in his mind. It's Levi squeezing his hand, not Maes. Maes is always gentle. Roy doesn't know Levi very well yet but can tell that he is not the gentle sort.

"Drink," Levi says insistently, still holding Roy's hand tight enough to hurt, and Roy does.

He manages two swallows before he can't bear any more, and tilts his head back against the wall, panting unsteadily, static in his head and dread in his chest, filling up the space where air should be.

Levi tentatively takes Roy's bruised hand and brings it to rest on his own chest. "Breathe," he says, or at least Roy thinks so, the word close enough to count. Levi takes a slow measured inhale. Roy feels Levi's chest rise steadily, his pulse is slow and steady underneath Roy's trembling fingers. "With me."

How is it, Roy wonders, that Levi knows how to help Roy, the way Maes had always known? How has Roy been fortunate enough after getting thrown head over heels through a hole in reality to stumble across someone else caring enough and calm enough and patient enough to know what Roy needs, when his mind is reeling and he can't think through the panic? If he's cursed, then he's also blessed, because he's lost and by himself but he's not _alone_.

Roy manages a breath, and Levi's expression twists into something a little less stern. "Good," he says, his chest moving slow and steady beneath Roy's hand. " _Opnieuw_." Whatever the hell that means. Levi doesn't seem to want more from Roy than his continued breathing, which is simple if not easy, so Roy does his best to comply.

Levi makes him drink some more and breathe some more, and eventually Roy's lungs seem to remember how to work without his conscious direction. He's wrung out and exhausted, soaked with sweat and shivering, but at least he's breathing and the anxiety has subsided to a low murmur, quiescent if not vanquished.

Levi sits back and carefully places the glass of water, now half-empty, off to the side. "Better," he says, and it's not so much a question as a command.

Roy nods, focusing on Levi's voice and dozens of little details of the room: the chipped tiles on the wall, the wooden bathing bucket, two rough bath towels hanging neatly on the hooks screwed into the door. He needs to keep his mind from drifting back to dangerous places. A half bar of soap sits in a dish on the sink; the scent is lavender and pleasant. There is a kit of shaving gear packed neatly under the sink. Roy will need to shave eventually but not for a few more days; he wonders if Levi's facial hair grows as slowly as Roy's does.

Levi rises gracefully to his feet. He has nice feet, Roy thinks, small and strong, like the rest of him. Levi holds a hand out to Roy to help pull him upright. Roy stands, and Levi considers him with careful attention, cataloging every detail of Roy's appearance the way Roy is cataloging the bathroom. (A loose stack of toilet paper in a small basket, discretely placed; a mismatched set of hand towels; a small pair of scissors and a set of nail clippers in a worn leather case with a broken zipper.) Roy shifts uneasily under Levi's scrutiny, feeling sticky and unsteady and mortified, but Levi seems satisfied with whatever it is he sees, nodding brusquely.

"Wash," he directs. "Then we eat. Then you go with Hange. I speak with Erwin." He speaks slowly and carefully, using only little words he knows Roy understands.

Roy flushes with gratitude but resists the urge to bow. They don't seem to do that here. "Thank you," Roy says, hoping it sounds as sincere as he feels. "Thank you, Levi, for …" Well, 'saving me from a humiliating panic attack' is a bit beyond his linguistic capabilities at the moment, so Roy settles just for waving his arm at the sink and the floor and the water.

Levi smiles just a tiny bit, the hint of an upturned corner to his mouth, and leaves Roy to finish washing up.

* * *

"You told him what," Erwin says, voice absolutely free of any inflection whatsoever, meaning of course that he's pissed as hell and not showing it because that would imply he has actual emotions like an actual human.

"Um." Levi shifts uncomfortably under the look Erwin is giving him that is not a glare, because only actual humans get angry enough to glare. "Where else is he going to stay? He can't just go rent an apartment in the city. He doesn't have any papers or any money."

Erwin continues to look down at him. Levi wishes he'd thought to wait before initiating this discussion until Erwin was sitting down. It's at times like these Levi really resents his own height, or lack thereof.

"So, you thought," Erwin says coolly, "that you would just take it upon yourself to offer him a position within the Survey Corps."

Levi would admit, if pressed, that it's possible he technically doesn't have the authority to do such a thing. "Not exactly …? He doesn't have to actually be in the Corps." Except Levi guesses Roy sort of does. They don't have civilians on base. "I don't see the problem. He's fucking amazing. You saw him yesterday."

"The alchemy is impressive," Erwin concedes.

Levi stares at him. "Are you fucking kidding me."

"It's impressive," Erwin repeats.

"He can shoot flame 50 meters. At least 50; we didn't test longer distances." (Yet, Levi thinks. It is surely on Hange's agenda.) "And he's powerful. You saw him." Fucking strong, so strong he'd destroyed several of the targets completely, even at the very longest distances, muttering something under his breath and looking irritated each time it happened. He'd gotten it under control by the end of the day, but he'd still looked annoyed, maybe even disconcerted. Levi would love to know what the hell that was all about, but doubts Roy has the vocabulary yet to properly explain.

"It's _very_ impressive," Erwin says. "I'm not questioning his skills, Levi. He would be an invaluable asset out in the field. But he's an unknown quantity."

"So was I."

"You were not. And even if you had been, even if we hadn't spent months observing you"—the fuck they did, Levi thinks, irritated—"we knew your sort."

"The sort of people who were criminals in the Underground," Levi says flatly, hating the way Erwin said 'your sort,' like Levi had been something less than human, back then.

Erwin dips his head slightly. "If you like. And more generally, the sort of people who grew up on this world. We don't know anything about him except that he has powers we don't understand."

"That makes him different from Jaeger, how? Until _he_ came along, we didn't know anything about human Titans."

"Eren was almost executed," Erwin reminds him. "He _was_ experimented on."

Levi blanches. "That's different. Roy's not a Titan. No one's going to experiment on him." For one thing, Roy would probably burn them alive. For another, Levi would dismember anyone who tried.

Erwin shrugs. "I don't think it's particularly likely, no. But I've already gotten three memos from Command. They would, at the very least, like to speak to him. And I can think of half a dozen people who would like to make him an asset."

"He's not an _asset_. I fucking hate that word when you use it about people."

"Nonetheless. News travels quickly. Dok is already aware we've got someone who can create flame out of thin air. You know he's going to ask for Roy to be transferred to the MPs."

"What, so he can guard the bunch of useless aristocrats who sit on their asses all day in Mitras counting their money? Fuck that, and fuck them. He should be out there with us killing Titans."

"I don't necessarily disagree with you, but it may not be up to me. I have only so much influence, and it's a hell of a lot less than you think." Erwin looks down his nose at Levi. Levi forcefully does not resent his own comparative shortness. "Tell me honestly, would you care so much about this if you weren't sleeping with him?"

Levi doesn't flinch, though he feels his fingers twitch into fists, seemingly of their own volition. "Fuck you. That's irrelevant."

"Is it." Erwin sighs. "Look, I don't begrudge you the sex. God knows you've gone long enough without, and from all reports, the two of you are, er"—he coughs, lightly—"highly compatible."

Levi makes a quick mental note to kill Mike Zacharias.

"But I can't make decisions that affect the Corps based on your dick." Erwin wraps his arm around his torso, a peculiar gesture, until Levi realizes it's what Erwin would have done if he was crossing his arms, if he still had two arms to cross. Erwin settles back against his desk, folding slightly at the waist to bring his head just a bit closer to Levi's eye level. Levi doesn't know whether it's on purpose or not and so doesn't know whether he should be annoyed at being patronized. "Neither should you."

"I'm not," Levi says, fighting to keep his voice calm and level. Yelling always just pisses Erwin off. "Honestly, I'm not. He can kill Titans from a distance. And whatever it was that brought him here, it's outside the walls. He's going to want to go back out there to see if he can get back home." Anxiety twists his stomach for an instant, but he shoves it down and away. This is not the time to get distracted by his own inappropriate feelings, his anxiety that after two days he's already struggling to accept that one day, Roy's going to leave.

Erwin regards him silently, still leaning against the desk. His ass is bumping against a stack of paperwork, tilting the pile slightly askew, the only element of disorder in the office, the only element of life. Everything else about the office is sterile, spartan. Erwin has no artwork, no plants. Not even a picture of a plant. Just worn wooden furniture and stacks and stacks of papers. It's clean enough, Levi supposes, even by his own standards, but cold. As if the only thing that matters is the job, and anything else, like comfort, or beauty, is not just unimportant but utterly irrelevant.

It's one thing (of many) about Erwin that Levi doesn't understand. If there isn't any beauty in life, not even a hint of it, then what's the point of living? Levi doesn't consider himself to be a particularly emotional man, and he's never collected knickknacks and trophies or other useless detritus, but he's got a framed sketch that Isabel once drew of a baby bird, a pair of teacups that he'd bought because the pattern reminded him of the set his mother owned, and two small knives that Kenny left behind for him when he'd walked out.

Erwin has nothing. Not in his office, not in his quarters. Levi doesn't trust anyone who doesn't have even a little bit of beauty in his life.

"How sure are you," Erwin says finally, "that he's here by accident?"

 _I don't know how I come here_ , Roy had said hopelessly last night, and a little while ago he'd been hyperventilating in panic in Levi's bathroom. "Pretty sure."

Erwin rubs at his forehead, looking suddenly very tired. Two days ago, 20 Corps soldiers had died. Levi forgets sometimes how personally Erwin takes every death and every injury. "How's his speech coming along?"

Levi shrugs. "All right. He's only been here for two days." Good enough for sex, certainly. "He's picking it up quicker than I would. A lot of the vocabulary is similar, and the grammar seems to be close enough. But he's not going to be writing novels any time soon."

Erwin hums. "Or testifying?"

"If they ask him about fruit, he'll be okay." Or sex. "Otherwise"—Levi shrugs again—"He gets about 10-20% of what he hears, maybe." At least, that's true if anyone but Levi is speaking. Roy seems to understand most of what Levi says to him, but Levi doesn't feel the need to mention that to Erwin because he isn't quite sure what to make of it, except that it warms him somewhere buried deep inside.

"All right." Erwin draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose, circling around to sit at his desk. He reaches for the closest stack of papers and starts leafing through it. "I'll trust your judgment on this, for now. And I'll say that he's not fluent enough for questioning, which should hold off the vultures for a little while." Paper rustles. Levi has at most half of Erwin's attention now. "Is he going to stay in your quarters?"

"I …" Levi says intelligently. "What?"

"Is he going to stay in your quarters," Erwin repeats calmly. He glances down at a paper on his desk, clucks in exasperation, and crosses something out with prejudice. "He has the last two nights. Do you intend for that to be a permanent arrangement, or do you want me to assign him some quarters of his own?"

Caught entirely off-guard, Levi doesn't answer at first. Then he gathers his wits enough to say, "Um."

The corner of Erwin's mouth twitches, in what might, for an actual human, be the beginnings of a smile. "That is not actually an answer."

Levi swallows. "Um," he says again. His tongue feels thick and useless. "Probably you should … I mean, it wouldn't make sense to just …"

Erwin gazes at him placidly. He is laughing in his head, the bastard. Just because he's an automaton on the outside doesn't mean he's not a sadistic son of a bitch on the inside. "It wouldn't make sense to just what? It's a simple question, Levi. I'm not going to put him in the barracks, if that's what you're worried about."

It is not a simple question. It is anything but a simple question. Levi hasn't lived with anyone since Farlan and Isabel died, not properly; even though he'd lived in the barracks for a while after he'd joined the Scouts, no one ever took the beds around his. Moblit said it was because Levi projected a bubble of hostility anytime anyone ever showed the slightest inclination to approach him. That might well have been true, but whether it was or not, Levi had lived in his own little bubble in the barracks, then he'd gotten promoted and had been given officer's quarters and has lived alone ever since.

Levi has known Roy for all of two days. He can't just … even if he wanted, even if he _wants_ … "Quarters," he manages, roughly. He coughs his throat to clear it. "Assign him quarters."

Erwin's eyebrow raises high, in skepticism or amusement or both, but all he says is, "Very well." He reaches into his desk and pulls out a logbook, flipping through until he reaches a page with a list of names and numbers, half scratched out and written over. Erwin looks at it thoughtfully for a minute, then says, "Noah's old quarters are still empty. Roy can stay there." He makes a notation in the book, then slams it shut. Then he turns back to his papers in a very effective dismissal that spares them both from dealing with Levi's failure to salute — ever.

Levi watches him for a moment, one sleeve empty and pinned up, but still working diligently, surrounded by endless paperwork in a lifeless office. Levi has disliked Erwin Smith from the moment he'd met him; time and familiarity haven't made Levi like him any more, but he does, at least, respect him for his dedication and industriousness. With a thoughtful hum, Levi turns on his heel and leaves.

* * *

Roy is not on the practice range where Levi had left him, but Levi follows the sounds of gasps and cheers to the kegelen field, where a group of recruits have gathered around to watch Roy — possibly of his own volition, possibly not — demolish a small series of wooden targets, roughly in the shape of miniature Titans.

"That's amazing!" This from Armin, who is gaping at Roy, eyes wide with admiration. He looks like a fish, Levi thinks irritably, one of the slow, stupid ones that just swim into your net like they want to be captured and eaten. Levi had never fished until he joined the Corps and started going outside the walls, but fishing with a net still seems to be unsportsmanlike.

Roy for his part looks bemused, but not unduly bothered by the attention, maybe even a little flattered. Not preening, exactly, but not shoving the fawning brats away, either. Levi concedes that Roy might not be thoroughly perfect.

"Can you snuff it out?" Eren asks.

"He can't understand you, moron," Jean says, smacking him in the head. Levi approves. Levi approves of smacking teenagers in general, and smacking Eren in particular.

Eren squawks and shoves Jean away, scowling but not otherwise retaliating: progress, perhaps. Time was, Eren would lose his shit over the smallest affront, which isn't a particularly desirable personality trait in someone who can turn into a 15-meter killing machine just by nibbling on his knuckle. Jean seems to have made it his mission to torment the sensitivity out of Eren. Levi had originally thought this was a somewhat dubious and risky venture, but to his shock it appears to be working; Eren hasn't eaten Jean yet, so maybe Jean know what he is doing after all.

"Can you," Eren says, speaking slowly and clearly, "put the flame out? Make it stop?"

Roy just quirks an eyebrow and shrugs apologetically. "I don't understand what you say."

Levi stays silent, watching from a distance. This had been one of Hange's first questions yesterday, and it'd taken some time to get Roy to grasp what he was being asked. The answer to the question is no; apparently, Roy isn't able make something stop burning once it's started, which Hange finds strange for some scientific reason that Levi doesn't understand. Levi keeps his mouth shut, mostly because he's curious how long it will take Eren to get his point across.

Eren does look perplexed. He holds up one finger. "Wait here," he says, and jogs off across the field.

Roy watches him go, brow furrowed, and turns to Jean, asking him something in an undertone. Levi can't hear what they're saying, but he'd put money on it that Roy's asking what 'wait' means. He'd have loved to hear Jean try to explain that, but Eren is already back, holding one of the wooden Titan dolls. There isn't much left of it, and what is left is burning. Eren is holding the doll carefully by the legs while the head burns.

"Fire," Eren says, pointing.

"Fire," Roy repeats politely, as if that hadn't been one of the first words he'd learned. Levi rolls his eyes.

"Can you put it out?" Eren asks. He blows a hard puff of air at the little Titan head, which does nothing but make the flame flare brighter.

Roy looks at him blankly, puzzled. "Put it out?" he repeats doubtfully. He looks at the doll, then Eren, then shrugs and snaps his fingers. The flame flares up momentarily; Eren yelps and drops the doll to the grass.

Jean coughs suspiciously into his fist, and even Mikasa looks mildly amused.

"No," Eren says, blowing on his fingers. "That's not what I mean. Put it out," he says again, doggedly. This time, he stamps on the Titan with his foot until the flame is extinguished, then picks up the sorry looking remains. "No fire," he says. "See? No fire."

Roy's expression clears. "Ah," he says with a nod. He takes the charred wood from Eren. It's now not much more than half a misshapen torso, and Roy lights it up with a snap. "Fire," he says confidently. Then he covers the wood with his glove, smothering the flame. "Put it out, yes? Make it not fire?"

Eren looks relieved. "Yes."

"Ah," Roy says. Then, "No. I can not. I can make oxygen, but I can not … make not oxygen …?" This is slow, faltering, but entirely comprehensible. He points to the rune on the back of his glove. "It is to make more oxygen. It is not the same to make not oxygen. You understand?"

Eren nods, looking dejected, and even Armin looks a little gloomy, though Levi suspects that's more because he doesn't want to think there are any limitations on Roy's powers. Mikasa, for her part, doesn't even look all that interested, but then again, she is rarely interested in anything that doesn't directly concern Eren. Theirs is a twisted and somewhat disturbing relationship, in Levi's opinion. He'd have separated the two, except he thought Mikasa might try to kill him for it, and she's the one person in the world he thinks might be able to manage it.

"Hey," Levi says walking over and addressing the recruits. "Play time is over. You have assessments in two days. You should be practicing. You," he says to Roy, "come with me."

It's impossible to miss the way Roy's face lights up. His eyes crinkle at the corners; his forehead smooths; his mouth quirks in the tiniest hint of a smile. He is devastatingly handsome and he is smiling right at Levi and Levi's heart is suddenly pounding so hard he thinks it might explode out of his chest. _The fuck_ , he tells his traitorous limbic system. _Calm the fuck down._

Levi needs to get a handle on this. Levi needs to get a handle on this right the fuck now. Getting Roy his own quarters is obviously the right move, because it's been two days and Levi is already in very dangerous territory if the tiniest little smile from Roy is enough to set Levi off like this. It's Levi's own fault, maybe. He's shut himself off from intimacy for so long, he's completely unprepared to deal with it, with Roy soft and sleepy in the morning, trembling and trusting in the bathroom, and smiling at Levi like he's the sun.

But even if this is a mess of Levi's own making — which it obviously is; he was never very good with interpersonal relationships in the first place and it's his own fault that he's now completely out of practice at having feelings — even so, Levi still has to get it under control. He has a goal in life, a singular mission, and that is to free humanity from the thrall of the Titans. He can't get distracted and he can't get sidetracked, no matter how goddamn attractive Roy is when he smiles. _Keep a lid on it,_ he tells himself. _Eyes on the prize._

It's too bad that his body seems to have a very different idea of exactly what the prize is, because try as he might, he can't keep his eyes off Roy.

He mulls this problem over as he takes Roy to get some more clothing. This provides an entirely gratuitous opportunity to ogle Roy in his underclothes, which Levi absolutely did not need but Roy is delighted by, if the way he shamelessly bends over and shoves his perfect ass in Levi's face is any indication. Levi grits his teeth and tries not to think too hard about Roy's ass. Or any other part of Roy's body.

 _This is exactly the problem,_ he tells himself as Roy picks through the piles of clothing in the storage room, assisted by Hilde, an 80-year-old wizened little woman who is roughly half Levi's height and twice as mean. Except Hilde seems to have taken a shine to Roy; she takes her time bringing out clothing she thinks he might like, and even gives him a shirt that must previously have belonged to a senior officer, the fabric soft and luxurious, the color a deep, decadent blue.

The shirt looks incredible on Roy, and Hilde is delighted, cooing with pleasure and patting him on the back as if he's done something praiseworthy. Roy grins and thanks Hilde effusively, more gracious in his stuttered, stumbled way than Levi has ever managed to be in his life. Hilde responds by bringing out even nicer clothing. Levi is beginning to get an idea of what Roy's life must be like. If Roy is this charming when he can't speak the language, he must have the world eating from his hand when he's fluent.

Despite all the pampering Roy is getting from Hilde, he is intensely particular about each piece of clothing: He is obviously quite comfortable using his appearance to get his way, and even if he's unfamiliar with the Corps styles he's not unfamiliar with dressing to his advantage. The fuck-me outfit he'd picked out with Sasha, Levi concludes, watching Roy turn around in the mirror and squint critically at the way the trousers cling to his ass, was no accident.

Hange comes for Roy as soon as they're done, leaving Levi with no time to tell Roy about the quarters he's been assigned, at least not without Hilde overhearing, and this is not a conversation Levi wants to have in anyone else's earshot. "Come on," Hange says to Roy impatiently. "I wanted you an hour ago."

Roy throws a despairing, pleading look at Levi, but Levi steels himself and waves goodbye. He has to be firm with himself and with Roy, and nip this little bout of co-dependency in the bud. "I'll see you later," he says stoically. "For dinner."

Roy repeats 'dinner' mournfully, but lets himself get dragged off by a grinning Hange. Levi feels a little guilty about it. Hange has apparently had devised an entirely new battery of tests, which does not bode well for the remainder of Roy's day. But Levi has spent nearly every minute of the last two days at Roy's side, and he's got to put some space between them before this … this whatever it is between them … before it spirals completely out of control. Serious space, apparently, because Levi can't stop thinking about Roy in that goddamn blue shirt, and how good he'd look wearing it and nothing else.

Goddamn it, he thinks irritably, and stalks away, telling Hilde he'll have someone come by later for Roy's clothes.

The next thing on Levi's agenda is to check out Noah's old quarters, soon to be Roy's new quarters, which had been emptied some number of months ago but apparently have not been cleaned since. A light coating of dust covers every surface and there are piles of dead insects in the corners and under the bed. Levi is appalled; there is no way he's letting Roy sleep _here._ He heads to the barracks to find some recruits to clean the room, and tells them he'll be back after dinner and that he expects to find the room up to his standards. They look terrified, which is deeply and privately satisfying. (Levi is not above taking a little bit of vindictive pleasure where he can, and everybody knows it.)

The rest of the day is entirely routine, except that Levi's mind keeps wandering, wondering what Roy is doing, if he'd inadvertently gotten injured during Hange's tests. It wouldn't be the first time Hange had gotten a little too enthusiastic; Levi knows this from personal, painful experience. He obsesses over how Roy looked in the goddamn blue shirt and what he looks like out of it. (This last thought is particularly intrusive and distracting, and Levi has to force his attention back to the task at hand more than once. Many times more than once. Many, many times. In retrospect, perhaps going with Roy to get him some clothing had been a bad idea, but this just proves to Levi that he is doing the right thing putting a little distance between two of them.)

Dinner rolls around before Levi is quite ready for it; doing his administrative tasks turns out to require a significantly longer period of time when he can't concentrate, even when he's working on things that normally require no real thought whatsoever, like reports for Erwin about topographical features of the area outside the wall. He only realizes what time it is when Moblit appears at his office door, Roy in tow, who looks disheveled and exhausted. Roy collapses into a chair with a groan, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes.

"He almost fainted," Moblit says cheerfully, in the face of Levi's alarm. "Hange thinks it's because he did about 100 transmutation spells in a row, but I think it's because he ate so much of that green stuff at lunch."

Levi looks at him, hoping his expression conveys exactly how much of an idiot Moblit is. "You mean the broccoli?"

Moblit shudders. "Yeah."

"It's a vegetable," Levi says. "Nobody ever fainted from eating too many vegetables."

"Nobody ever fainted from eating too much bread and butter."

"You know sometimes they put broccoli in the stew," Levi says, just to be an ass. He has no idea if they put broccoli in the stew. The vegetables in the stew are almost always completely unidentifiable.

Moblit flips him off and turns to Roy, who is still sitting bonelessly in the chair like he might never move again. Moblit pats him on the shoulder. "No more broccoli for you, if you want my advice. Feel better, all right?"

Roy drags his eyes open with obvious effort. "I don't—"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't understand, I know. See you tomorrow, right?"

"Tomorrow," Roy repeats, though he looks a little uncertain, either about the meaning of the word or the idea of another day of torture with Hange. " _Gute nacht_."

"Good night," Moblit responds without missing a beat, and waves goodbye.

Levi turns his attention to Roy, worried and irritated, because Roy had been shaky and pale yesterday afternoon too, and once might have been a fluke but twice is a pattern, and Levi doesn't like it. Hange can be persistent but Roy is an adult and should know his own limits. Levi opens the middle drawer on the left side of his desk, where he keeps a few neatly wrapped packages of non-perishable food, and pulls out a small bag of nuts and dried fruit. He tosses it across the desk and says "eat" a little curtly.

Roy blinks down at the package. It is triple-wrapped in oilskin to keep pests out, so not obviously food. But after a moment, Roy pulls the wrapping apart with deft, nimble fingers, cheeks tinting pink when Levi says "eat" again, insistently.

"I know," Roy says, ignoring the nuts in favor of the fruit. " _Ich bin nicht vorsichtig genug_." Then he glances up, flushing. " _Entschuldigung._ Sorry. I … I is ..." He frowns. "What is _bin_? You are, he is. _Ich bin_ …?"

"It's the same," Levi says. "I am." Then he frowns. "And no. You are not careful enough." He points at the nuts. "Eat."

Roy flushes again, a deeper shade of red that creeps up his cheeks and across the bridge of his perfect, elegant nose. He picks out the rest of the fruit and eats it, then eats a few almonds for good measure, rubbing his fingers together when he's done to wipe off the oil and salt. "I know better. _Aber_ I don't want to …" He frowns again, irritated. "Zoë wants me to do many transmutations. And I want to … to _helfen."_

"Help." Levi does not comment on the fact that Roy is apparently on a first-name basis with Hange now. 

"Help," Roy repeats. "I don't want Zoë to be …" He pauses. "… _wütend?"_ He makes a face to demonstrate, scowling furiously, exaggeratedly.

"Angry," Levi says.

"Angry. _Aber_ … _ahm,_ that is 'but _,'_ sorry _._ But—" Roy sighs and rubs at his neck, looking rueful. "I am not _zwanzig_." At Levi's baffled look, he says. "Ah. It is … " He pauses, then holds up a finger. " _Eins_." Another finger. " _Zwei_." A third finger. " _Drei_. You understand?"

"One, two, three," Levi says. They haven't yet tackled numbers, though in retrospect, perhaps they should have. Numbers are basic.

Roy repeats "one, two, three" dutifully, then holds up all ten fingers. " _Zhen_ ," he says.

"Ten."

"Ten. _Zwanzig_ is ten and ten. _"_

 _"_ Twenty."

"Twenty," Roy says. Then he shrugs with a little self-deprecating smile. "I am not twenty. To do many transmutations is … much energy."

"I'll bet," Levi says, which Roy seems to understand well enough, or else he's too exhausted to bother asking for an explanation.

Levi makes Roy eat the rest of the nuts and drink two glasses of water, after which Roy's color is markedly improved and he seems a little perkier. They spend the time going over numbers. Levi learns Roy's age — 31 — and self-consciously confesses to being 38, which is if nothing else is the age on his papers and is probably roughly accurate. Roy seems to find this a little hard to believe; he keeps staring at Levi doubtfully, which Levi finds stupidly flattering. By the time Levi deems Roy suitably steady to leave for dinner, Roy can count as high as he'll ever realistically need to, and he's learned all his colors too. For that, it helps that the words are nearly identical.

They take dinner in the mess hall with Mike and some other officers Levi knows only vaguely; the conversation's too fast for Roy to follow but Levi does his best to translate. Roy's attention is largely on his food anyway. He still looks tired and pale. Levi is going to speak to Hange about giving Roy a break tomorrow. Levi only picks at his own food. He hasn't yet told Roy that he's been assigned his own quarters, and the thought of it, of leaving Roy alone for the evening, has sapped his appetite. But it's for that exact reason that Levi knows he has to do it. He has been distracted all day and he's distracted now. He can't afford it. Distraction gets you killed.

When dinner is over, Levi leads Roy to the officers' dorm, but instead of heading to his own room, he takes him to Noah's quarters. Roy's new quarters. It's in a different wing and on a different floor, and Roy seems to know something's up but he doesn't ask any questions. Levi hasn't figured out exactly what to say about the room but figures it'll be obvious anyway once he opens the door, and if the expression that crosses Roy's face is any indication, Levi was right. Levi's stomach has settled somewhere down around his ankles, and there's a heavy, sour taste in the back of his throat.

"Um," Levi says wretchedly. "This is your room."

Roy's face wipes completely clean of any emotion. It happens so fast Levi figures Roy must be very practiced it. Roy says nothing, but looks around the room with polite, removed interest. Levi wishes he couldn't see the muscle in Roy's jaw twitching, wishes he didn't already know Roy's body well enough to see the tightness in Roy's shoulders. _Can't be helped_ , he thinks to himself, but it doesn't sound convincing even in his head.

"We just thought," Levi says, "if you're going to stick around … that's to stay for a while … you wouldn't want to stay in my ratty quarters."

This brings a reaction. Roy jerks around, vaguely alarmed. "Ratty? Rats? Animals in … _der boden_?" He gestures at the floor.

Levi is a little repulsed. "The ground. But no. No rats. It's just an expression," he says, which he realizes is surely incomprehensible to Roy. "It means my quarters aren't very nice."

Roy looks relieved, then schools his expression again and looks around the rest of the room. "It's clean."

Levi can't tell if Roy is talking about Levi's quarters or this room, but he supposes it doesn't matter. It's just something Roy is saying to be polite, because letting the conversation stumble to a halt on Levi's self-deprecating comment would be awkward, and Roy obviously is never awkward, not even when fumbling in a foreign tongue.

Levi does not possess the same conversational grace. "Well," he says, after an excruciatingly uncomfortable moment. "The bathroom is down the hall." He points, which is dumb, since Roy had noted it when they passed by on the way here. "And you know where the mess hall is. That's where the food is."

"Yes." Roy has gone back to studying the room again, examining the lamp that sits on the small desk with great interest, seemingly fascinated by the switch that turns on the gas, although it's no different than the lamp on Levi's night table, which had not interested Roy in the slightest.

"All right," Levi says, to Roy's back. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

" _Gute nacht_ ," Roy says, without turning around.

Levi fights back a sigh. He feels like a complete shit. This is all for the better, he tells himself firmly. It's hard enough now; it would only have gotten worse if he'd waited. "Good night." He turns for the door, but stops when Roy says, "Levi."

It takes Levi a moment to school his own face into neutrality before he can risk turning around. "Yes?"

Levi isn't sure what emotion he expected to see on Roy's face, but whatever it might have been, it isn't there. Roy is looking at Levi the same way he looks at everyone else, polite and friendly, like Levi is nobody in particular, just another member of the Corps. " _Hast du papier_?" he asks, then grunts in irritation. Roy seems to forget himself and fall back into his own language when speaking with Levi more than anyone. Levi tries not to read anything into it, tries not to think that it means Roy trusts Levi more than anyone to understand him even when he's speaking another tongue, but it's hard not to think that. "Have you …" Roy frowns, thinks, and makes a scribbling motion. " _Papier_?" he repeats helplessly. " _Und eine stift_?" He makes the scribbling motion again.

"Yeah," Levi says. He also tries not to think that the reason Roy trusts him to understand is that Levi usually understands him perfectly. "There's probably some in the desk." He points at it. "Desk."

"Desk," Roy repeats automatically. He nods once and turns around, pulling open the drawer. "Ah. _Sehr gut, danke_." He holds up a notebook and opens to the first page, pointing. "What is the word?"

"Paper," Levi says. "And a pen."

Roy nods and repeats it. It's the speaking that does it, Levi thinks. Once Roy says a word out loud, he almost never needs to be told it a second time. Roy looks down at the paper and bites his lip, looks up at Levi through the fringe of his hair, and holds out the pen, tentative in a way he usually isn't, like he's suddenly afraid to push too hard. Like he doesn't want to ask a favor, doesn't want to presume a relationship deeper than simple acquaintance exists between the two of them. Levi forces down the swirl of guilt in his belly.

" _Canst du,"_ Roy says, "… can you …" He shrugs helplessly again. "… _der alphabet_?"

If there is any rhyme or reason to which of their words are the same and which are different, Levi can't discern it. "Sure," Levi says, and leans over the desk, taking the pen and paper from Roy. "Here." He gets as far as the third letter when Roy breathes out a soft sigh of relief and plucks the pen from Levi's fingers.

" _Sie sind gleich_. They are the same." He starts writing in a neat, competent hand, pronouncing the letters as he goes. They sound a little strange but look exactly the same, which shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is, really.

When Roy's done, the alphabet includes a few extra letters that Levi doesn't recognize, so he grabs the pen back and crosses them out. "Not these."

Roy looks vaguely surprised, but he shrugs with a quick economical motion, and Levi absolutely does not watch the play of the fabric over his shoulders, definitely does not think about the shape and taste of the muscles underneath. "Okay." Roy gives Levi a quick, soft grin, but after an instant he wipes it clean with a shake of his head, like he's just remembered he can't smile at Levi like that anymore.

That is not what Levi wants. That is not what this is about. It's to give both of them a little breathing room, because they'd come together too quickly and too explosively, and that's dangerous. And it's to give Roy some space of his own, a place he can go when he needs some time to himself, because he'd just gotten plucked up and tossed across reality somehow, and anyone trying to come to terms with that would surely want a little time and space to himself, right? But Levi can't think of how to say any of this in a way that would make sense, not with Roy's limited vocabulary and Levi's limited ability to speak without saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.

Roy takes a step back, not toward anything in particular, just to put some more space between them. " _Gut._ It's good, very good." He nods politely, distant and formal. "Thank you, Levi."

"You're welcome," Levi says wretchedly. Fuck, he's a moron, he's a jackass, what the fuck is he doing? What would have been the harm if Roy had stayed with him for another night or a week or a month or forever?

Roy seems mercifully oblivious to Levi's inner turmoil. "What is"—Roy makes a few marks on the page with the pen—" _schreiben_?"

"It's the same," Levi says. "To write."

"Mmm." Roy sits down at the desk, turns on the lamp, and flips the notebook to a clean page. "I write the new words. To make … _erinnern_?"

"Remember," Levi says. "It's also the same."

"Remember," Roy says. "I write to make remember." Then he bends over the notebook, pen scratching, and Levi is reminded of the way Erwin will end conversations by doing the same thing, turning to his paperwork so Levi can escape without actually having to say goodbye.

Levi can take a hint with the best of them. With a sigh that never leaves his throat, Levi leaves.

* * *

Levi closes the door behind him as he leaves, and Roy stares at it for a little while, discomfited. He has the unsettling feeling that he's miscalculated with Levi in some way, though it's hard to know exactly how or when. Levi is hard to read, closed off and reserved, and of course the language barrier complicates things immensely. Still, Roy isn't used to feeling this off-balance. He doesn't like it.

He stares at the door for a little while longer, waiting perhaps, but Levi doesn't come back. Not that there is any reason to expect that he would, except maybe that Roy wants him to. But the door stays closed, no matter how much Roy stares at it, so finally Roy turns away and takes a proper look around, now that all his concentration isn't being spent on keeping his expression bland and neutral.

The room is small, drab and functional like military quarters everywhere, though brutally dust-free in a way that speaks of Levi's influence. In addition to the desk and the chair, it has a small single bed that Roy tries hard not to take as a deliberate hint. There is also a battered wooden dresser with three drawers, and an even more battered wardrobe. Someone has thoughtfully left a stack of linens on top of the dresser: sheets, a blanket and a couple of dingy towels. They'd also thought to leave him a bar of soap, a razor and a comb, plus a strange wooden stick that Roy eventually concludes is meant for cleaning his teeth.

Other than the paper and pen, the desk is empty save for an ink well, half full. There's a small pile of clothing sitting on the bed. Mechanically, he sorts through it. There are socks, boxers, undershirts, along with the clothing he'd picked out with Levi: an extra pair of trousers and a few shirts. He runs his fingers over one of the shirts: a deep blue cotton, the fabric coarse and heavier than he's used to, maybe hand-spun and certainly hand-tailored. He remembers trying it on, the way Levi had watched him, eyes hot and hungry. He hadn't been imagining that, had he? He couldn't have been imagining how responsive Levi had been in bed. You can fake passion — Roy has, more than once — but Roy is certain, _certain_ , that Levi's reactions had been real. Honest. So why …

Roy catches himself and cuts off that train of thought, grunting in disgust. There's no point in wondering. Levi's made his position on the matter very clear by walking out the door, and in the end his reasoning doesn't matter. The result is the same. Roy puts the clothing in the dresser, and if he slams the drawers a little harder than is necessary, no one's around to bear witness. Then he shucks his coat and goes to put it away in the wardrobe.

His Amestrian uniform is hanging inside.

Roy freezes, one hand on the knob, the other still clutching his new coat, stomach cramping hard. Sasha had dropped his uniform off at Levi's yesterday afternoon, and Roy hasn't given it any thought since then. Finding it here is somehow a slap in the face, a note from Levi: Don't write; don't call. In a cosmic sense, he thinks morosely, he probably deserves it. He's broken it off with myriad of lovers over the years, and though he'd always tried to do it kindly, some of them had inevitably taken it less well than others. So perhaps this is just his due.

Jaw set, he hangs up his new coat. Next to the vibrant blue of his uniform, the dull grey fabric looks particularly austere and grim. It matches his mood.

Roy breathes in deeply, again and again until there's not the slightest hitch in the rhythm. He's not going to let the sudden death of a two-day affair throw him off his game, no matter how unexpected and unwelcome. It's probably for the best anyway. He has too much to do to let himself be distracted by some fling, no matter how spectacular the sex had been. If he wants to have any hope of getting himself home again, he needs to figure out the alchemy that brought him here.

All right, then. He flips to the back of the notebook and starts writing down everything he remembers about the strange array in the crazy alchemist's laboratory. This exercise doesn't take very long, because in the end, what he knows proves to be very little. He'd only seen a glimpse of the array before it had ignited, and he'd been half blinded and possibly concussed at the time. Worse, the array had been entirely unfamiliar, its structure and internal elements unlike anything he'd ever studied or even seen in a textbook. Edward or Alphonse might have had a hope of understanding it, but Roy, as much as he likes to pretend otherwise, is not nearly as knowledgeable as the Elrics in the arcane branches of alchemy. The boys had spent years studying every obscure text they could lay their hands on; Roy's study of alchemy had been far more conventional and practical and regrettably short. He'd studied with Master Hawkeye for only a few years, and learning flame alchemy had pretty much ended his exploration of anything else, a decision he'd never before regretted but is regretting the hell out of now.

Of course he has all the knowledge Truth had crammed into his brain, but it's been over a year since then and Roy still hasn't figured out any way to access it on demand. It just hits him sometimes when he's desperate, like that time he'd accidentally dropped a bottle of Aunt Chris's 100-year-old whiskey on the stone floor of the wine cellar: in sheer panic he'd transmuted the shattered pieces of the bottle back together with the whiskey inside. It had stopped his incipient heart attack, but he can't say how he did it and he doubts he'd be able to do it again.

In any event, it doesn't seem like Truth has seen fit to gift him with any deeper understanding of ancient alchemical runes, because nothing he's written down looks familiar, and in total, what he'd drawn comprises less than a third of the array.

Useless, he thinks bitterly. He can't do anything with this; he's missing most of it, and he doesn't have any idea what any of the symbols he does remember are meant to do. He assumes he'd activated some kind of portal, but to where? To another planet? Or is he on the same planet, but in another time? If he's time traveled — just the thought is absurd, but he supposes no more absurd than any other theory — where is he? The past? The future? Or is he in another reality altogether? More importantly, if he doesn't know where he is or how got here, how the fuck is he ever going to get home?

Anxiety flares; his skin prickles with it and the room feels suddenly hot and airless. _Breathe for me, buddy,_ he hears in his head, and Roy takes an obedient breath in through his nose. He holds it for a count of five, then lets it out slowly through his mouth, feeling phantom fingers stroke his cheek, a warm hand pressing against his chest. _That's it, one more, come on_. Roy never could say no to Maes, and still can't do it even now that Maes is dead. Roy takes long slow breaths in and out until the panic recedes and he can breathe without choking, then puts alchemy firmly out of his mind for the time being. He flips the notebook back to the front and starts writing down every word he's learned since arriving.

He writes for a long time, neatly and methodically, sorting words into categories: nouns, adjectives, verbs. The verbs he conjugates as best as he can, and while he's doing this, he is very determinedly _not_ remembering Levi correcting Roy's grammar, voice warm and amused at Roy's fumbling attempts at speech.

 _Fuck_ , Roy thinks irritably, scratching out a mistake with undue force, nearly ripping the page. _Stop it. It was two days. There's not even anything to get over._

The light starts flickering. Roy claps his hands and transmutes air into coal gas to refill the lamp. That had been one of the earliest gaseous transmutations he'd devised, and remains one of the most useful. All his lamps at home and in his office have transmutation arrays carved into them for just this purpose. Not necessary for him since the Promised Day, and useless to anyone now that he is trapped here, unless Riza finds another gas alchemist to give the lamps to, but that seems unlikely. Gases are tricky, volatile and unpredictable, and there is often very little benefit in converting one to another, so there are hardly any other alchemists who are even vaguely familiar with the science, and none he knows of who has made it a specialty.

He could probably use gas alchemy to refill the gas tanks on that equipment they used here, Roy thinks idly. Though maybe they just run on compressed air, in which case that wouldn't be much use at all. He'll have to ask Levi how the gear works. It'll probably be difficult for Levi to explain, but he has a remarkable talent for finding words that Roy can understand and …

… and maybe he won't be asking Levi anything, he thinks irritably. Maybe their interactions are going to be strictly professional from now on. Maybe Roy will just have to pretend he doesn't already know half a dozen different places to stroke to make Levi go pliant and boneless. He'll just have to forget the way Levi's voice drops into a lower register when he groans and how it reverberates throughout Roy's entire body, giving him chills like invisible fingers walking up and down his spine. He'll pretend he doesn't remember how Levi had fought the Titans, moving so quickly Roy's eyes could hardly track him, lit from within with foreign energy and glowing with an eerie, ethereal beauty.

Roy had seen him fight and _oh_ , how he'd wanted him.

Roy had wanted Levi, and what Roy wants, he usually gets. But now, he's wishing that, for once, he hadn't. Because if he's good at getting what he wants, he's lousy at keeping it once he has it.

Roy sighs, and stares down at his list of words. Tomorrow, he'll find some other people to practice speaking with. And when he has to see Levi again? Well, he'll deal with that when he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to SapphireMusings yet again for the chapter title, but it was too perfect not to use, really. And anyway I hate titles and she knows it.
> 
> Comments = love and make my day, if you have a minute ... :)


	5. Speak (or tell) (or say)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Levi realizes he is occasionally an idiot, and Roy is introduced to the joyous freedom of flight ... AKA the ODM gear.
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy is around, obviously; he's everywhere, it seems, every time Levi looks up; but Roy is also avoidable and so Levi avoids him but feels like shit about it, because sometimes he sees Roy's face when Roy thinks no one is watching, and Roy looks lost.
> 
> Roy:  
>  _Are you kidding me_ , Roy thinks, upside down, disoriented, and completely nauseated. _There is no way._

Levi's resolve to give Roy space lasts three days. Three days in which he has very few reasons to see Roy at all, and none whatsoever to speak to him, because Erwin has yet to hear back from Pyxis, and Hange still hasn't finished testing Roy's abilities and the new recruits are hogging the training ground anyway. Roy is around, obviously; he's everywhere, it seems, every time Levi looks up; but Roy is also avoidable and so Levi avoids him but feels like shit about it, because sometimes he sees Roy's face when Roy thinks no one is watching, and Roy looks lost.

"Of course he's lost," Moblit says, looking at him as if he is an idiot. Which, to be fair, he probably is. Moblit's already finished eating and is just sitting around waiting for Levi to be done. "He's from another universe or something, and he doesn't speak our language. Though I guess that didn't matter so much when you were fucking him. Groaning's the same in every language." He makes a noise that Levi supposes is meant to sound passionate; the people at the next table stare and snicker.

"Don't be an ass," Levi says. He's watching Roy surreptitiously. Roy is across the room, eating lunch with Jaeger & Company. Armin is making big simpering eyes at him and hanging off every quiet, stumbled word out of Roy's mouth. It's disgusting, really.

"Actually," Moblit says, chewing — Levi looks down to see that Moblit had pulled Levi's plate across the table and is busy finishing Levi's lunch — "he's speaking pretty well, considering. He's always writing words down in that notebook. You think it's magic? Maybe he put a spell on it to help him learn."

Levi slowly transfers his gaze from Roy to the moron across the table. This does not improve the view in any way whatsoever. "It's just a notebook. He didn't put a spell on it."

"How would you know?" Moblit sounds accusatory. "When's the last time you spoke to him?"

Sixty-five hours, thirty-seven minutes ago, Levi thinks, but does not say out loud. "That's not how alchemy works," is what he says instead. _Es ist nicht magie,_ Roy had said over and over, exasperated. "It's not magic."

Moblit rolls his eyes. "He can make fire appear out of thin air. You say alchemy; I say magic."

"That's because you're an idiot who's too stupid to understand the difference." Moblit is now picking through the food on Levi's plate with his fork, contaminating everything. So much for the rest of Levi's lunch. Levi reaches for an apple instead, peeling it carefully with his knife, depositing the skin carefully on a napkin. Once separated from the apple, he finds the peels vaguely nauseating, like bits of flayed human skin. "He uses alchemy to increase the oxygen content in the air. It's some sort of energy transformation we don't understand, not a spell. If he could use a spell to learn languages, he wouldn't need the notebook in the first place." He wraps up the napkin and places it on the tray, safely out of the way. "He's just smart, motivated, and good with languages."

"And good in bed," Moblit says. "Reportedly. Based on the noise." He heaves a great, put-upon sigh. "I can't believe that after all these years you finally found someone who could tolerate your freakishness and you gave him up after two days. What's wrong with you? I mean, _look_ at him."

Levi has been doing nothing but look at Roy, on and off, for sixty-five hours and thirty-nine minutes. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, though he'll be fucked before he admits that to Moblit.

"—and he's obviously got a thing for you."

Hastily, Levi tunes back in to the conversation. "What?"

Moblit is unwrapping the napkin that holds the discarded apple peel. Levi shudders and looks away. "It's kind of obvious," Moblit says. "When he looks at you, his expression is totally neutral. Like, no emotion at all. Nobody's that cold about someone they spent two nights having crazy loud sex with unless they're into him and hiding it." Moblit picks up a small piece of apple peel, pops it into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. Levi's stomach flips. "Or maybe he's secretly plotting ways to murder you for dumping him. Though he'd just incinerate you, realistically, which wouldn't take a lot of plotting, so he's probably just really into you."

Levi doesn't know where to begin to address this insanity, and the revolting sight of Moblit eating the apple peel is making it hard to think straight. "I didn't dump him," he says lamely.

Moblit raises an eyebrow. "What else would you call it? You moved him out of your quarters without even asking what he wanted, and you haven't spoken to him since. Sure seems to me like you dumped him."

"I just thought he'd want his own space." It sounds pathetic when he says it out loud, actually. He hadn't asked Roy what he'd wanted. Why hadn't he asked Roy what he'd wanted? It wouldn't have taken much. Even with his limited vocabulary, Levi's sure Roy would have been able to understand the question and give an answer.

"Uh huh." Moblit is unimpressed. "Fine, you keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep at night. Not that you sleep at night anyway, you weirdo." He heaves himself to his feet and gives Levi a flat stare, leaving the apple peel unwrapped and half eaten, _disgusting_. "All I'm saying is, everybody here already knew you were an asshole, but Roy probably didn't, so maybe you could pull that stick out of your ass and say hello to him every once in a while. He's dealing with enough shit already."

"There is no reality in which I'd take relationship advice from you," Levi says. "Or any kind of advice. Are you going to clean that up?"

"And deprive you of the joy it'd give your compulsive little heart to do it yourself?" Moblit asks over his shoulder as he walks away. "I'd never be so cruel."

The sad thing is, Moblit's logic seems unassailable no matter how Levi looks at it. Levi is not accustomed to self-reflection but he is also unaccustomed to thinking about the effect his own actions have on anyone else, primarily because he so rarely interacts with other people in any manner in which his actions could have a lasting effect on others. He is naturally aloof and purposefully cold, oftentimes rude and never intimate. He insults people all the time, but knows the sting will only ever be momentary because he's a dick to everybody so everybody knows not to take it personally.

But Roy hadn't known that. Roy appeared literally out of the blue, and he's floundering, trying to find his place, and for some stupid reason he had latched on to Levi, and Levi was stupid enough to let him. Yes, in retrospect that was probably a mistake. Levi's the last person anyone should choose as an anchor. But Roy had, and Levi hadn't stopped him, and now on top of all the other shit Roy's struggling with, Levi's set him adrift again.

Moblit had it right. Levi _is_ an asshole.

Levi spends his afternoon in a sea of self-recrimination and flagellation, swinging by the practice range a few times, always keeping far enough away that Roy can't accidentally catch a glimpse of him, which means he's too far away to see Roy's expression. Still, Roy looks tired, even from this distance, but he's standing straight and he doesn't hesitate when Hange indicates he should do something. So maybe he's taking better care of himself. Maybe he's making sure to drink enough water, and he's bringing a snack with him; or maybe Armin, the little suck-up, is taking care of it for him. Levi can see him lurking about the edges of the field, standing next to Moblit but his eyes unerringly on Roy.

Too bad for Armin, he's only a kid, and no matter what ridiculous crush he's got on Roy, it's going to stay unrequited. Roy would never — well. Levi guesses he's not sure what Roy would do; Levi has no idea what's considered socially acceptable where Roy is from. But Levi's seen Roy's expression when he looks at the recruits, and mostly he just looks sad.

Moblit's head turns in Levi's direction, and Levi hustles off before Moblit can call attention to Levi's presence where he has no good excuse to be. He drops off a few reports in Erwin's office, answers a few questions as to Roy's well-being as vaguely as possible, and returns to his own office to finish his report on the latest training assessment of Recruit Cohort B.

The reports take a long time. Levi is not impressed with this particular group of teenagers, and thinks most of them won't survive their first mission outside the walls without special and intensive training. When he's done, Levi heads to dinner late. Roy's already there, finished eating by the looks of it, sitting between Mike and Hannah and across from Lila. Levi wonders jealously when Roy has even gotten to know all these people. Levi hasn't said more than two words to Hannah or Lila in all the time they've been here, which, Levi thinks, may have been several years.

Lila is staring at Roy with an enraptured expression, leaning forward with arms crossed on the table and her breasts resting on them, emphasizing her already generous cleavage. Roy says something that makes Lila laugh, and Roy smiles back dazzlingly. Levi spears a potato with so much force he bends the tines on his fork.

Levi stares at his mangled fork, and then across the room. Enough, he decides, is enough. He owes Roy an apology and he also has to face the fact that just the sight of Roy smiling like that at another person makes Levi's blood boil.

And so, an hour later, Levi knocks on Roy's door. His palms are sweaty and he wipes them on his pants, breathing in and out to calm his nerves. Which is ridiculous. He isn't this anxious facing down Titans, he shouldn't be this anxious facing somebody he'd accidentally sort of broken up with.

Roy opens the door and looks completely taken aback to find Levi there. But then his expression clears and he smiles, bland and pleasant, painfully polite. "Levi. Good evening."

"Hi." Levi coughs and shuffles his feet. "Um. Do you have a minute?"

Roy cranes his head around and looks into his room, then turns back to Levi. "Yes." But he doesn't make any move to let Levi in, and Levi has the sudden horrible feeling that Roy has someone else in there. Maybe Lila, who is attractive and shapely and who had not stopped smiling at Roy all through dinner. And why wouldn't Roy have brought Lila back to his room? Levi had made it perfectly, stupidly clear to everyone where he stood, and Roy is attractive, powerful and exotic. He is also effortlessly sexy and eminently sexual. Plus he's wearing that damned blue shirt and it clings to his chest in all the right ways, and his hair is perfectly tousled in a way that just screams for fingers to run through it, and Levi is so goddamn jealous that he can hardly think.

"I'm an idiot," Levi blurts out.

Roy eyes widen and his hands go tight on the door frame. He stays silent for a long while, and then says slowly, "I don't understand."

"It's … an idiot is someone who's stupid. Very stupid, do you—"

"I know the word," Roy interrupts. "Zoë says it all the times. Why are you an idiot?"

"Because," Levi says. "Because I was stupid, and scared. Do you know scared?"

Roy shakes his head. "No. What does it mean?"

"It's"—but Levi can't think of any way to explain it, especially not standing in the hall, where anybody could come walking by, so he just shakes his head—"forget it. If this isn't a good time, I'll come back."

Roy stands there for a moment thinking, or maybe just translating. Levi thinks it must be exhausting for Roy to have to work so hard all the time just to understand what's said to him. But then Roy backs up and opens the door wider. "The time is fine."

The knot of jealous anxiety in Levi's gut abruptly unfurls and dissipates, because obviously Roy doesn't have Lila or anyone else in his room after all. That's just Levi being irrational, which is not good, which is terrible, really; Levi dislikes not being in control of his own feelings, but he'll have to deal with that later. One problem at a time. He steps into Roy's room, which is blessedly empty of anyone else, but is also a complete and utter disaster.

His dismay must show on his face, because Roy flushes hard and starts hurriedly shoving things into drawers. When did he get all this crap? He hasn't yet been here a week, but he seems already to have as much stuff as Levi: clothes and books and paper, so much paper; it's everywhere. And toiletries and blankets and at least three bottles of wine of dubious quality, plus one bottle of wine of a vintage better than anything Levi's ever managed to get his hands on and definitely can't afford.

"Sorry," Roy says, grabbing a towel and doing a hasty, horrible job of folding it. "It's not very clean." He grimaces. "I'm not very clean. My … Riza, she says I'm more not clean than all the other people."

"Messier. Not clean is messy. Who's Riza?"

Roy freezes in the middle of straightening up a stack of papers. "She is"—he looks like he's struggling with something—"my … my _untergebene_. Do you know the word?"

Under-something, Levi supposes. "No."

Roy frowns, grabbing more paper from the bed and adding it to the stack on the desk. Some of the pages are sideways, but Roy doesn't seem to care or even notice. "She _arbeitet_ for me."

This is not any more help. "Sorry?"

Roy makes a disgusted noise. More paper goes on the stack, which is now several centimeters thick. "She … she do things for me. Does things. Papers?"

"She's your secretary?"

"Secre … _sekretärin_?" Roy looks horrified. "No. She will hurt me if I say it. She is not my secretary. Very not my secretary. She is my friend, but more than a friend. More than sister." He grunts in frustration. "I don't know the word." Then he pauses, and a thoughtful look flits across his face. "I don't know the word in my language."

Levi understands; he couldn't have put a name to his relationship with Farlan or Isabel either, because there is no single word that would fit. But then that thought makes him vaguely jealous, that there is someone out there as close to Roy as Farlan and Isabel had been to Levi. Feeling jealous then makes him feel petty and irrational, because obviously Roy must have people back home who care about him, and it's ridiculous and selfish of Levi to resent that.

Roy is studying Levi's face, brow slightly furrowed in interest. "I don't have sex with her," he says, with care not for the words themselves but to gauge Levi's reaction.

Levi shifts from one foot to the other, embarrassed at having been so transparent. For fuck's sake, he isn't some pimply teenager. "It's not my business if you do."

Irritation flares briefly in Roy's eyes, but it's there and gone, replaced with something deeper and more speculative, like Roy thinks he might have just solved a particularly frustrating puzzle. He takes a step closer, suddenly confident and predatory, halving the distance between them. Levi quells the instinctive urge to take a step back. "Why are you an idiot?"

Heat prickles up Levi's neck. For an instant, he deeply regrets having ever come by. "…what?"

"You come here to say me you are an idiot. Why are you an idiot?"

"Tell," Levi deflects. "To tell you, not to say."

Roy straightens slightly. "They are not the same?"

"No."

Roy lets out an incoherent noise of irritation. He twists around. There's an open notebook on his desk, with a pen carelessly splayed across it and a half-empty glass of wine in easy reach. Roy grabs the notebook and the pen and scribbles something quickly, then slams the notebook shut and drops it back on the desk. "You can explain me later. Why are you an idiot?"

"Because," Levi starts, but then doesn't finish, because speaking with Roy necessitates simplicity, but there is no simple way to encompass the magnitude of his idiocy.

Roy raises an eyebrow smugly. He seems to be holding in a smirk. "Because is not an answer. Say … _tch_ , tell me."

There is a hint of authority in his voice, not quite intimidating, but enough to set the expectation that Levi will answer. Roy is accustomed to having his orders obeyed, clearly, which is interesting, and also kind of hot, and definitely a character trait that Levi is going to explore later, if Roy will let him.

Levi straightens his spine. He's being ridiculous and pathetic. Kenny would be disgusted. "I still want to see you," he says clearly. "I'm an idiot because I let you think I didn't."

"… You see me," Roy says slowly, after a moment of processing. "You see me all the times."

"All the time," Levi corrects. "But that's not what …" He growls. "Fuck it. I'm not good with words."

"You are better than me," Roy says, amused now. "I am bad with your words all the times. Time."

"You're not bad. You're amazing. You're amazing and I want to see you and that doesn't mean I want to look at you. Although I do want to look at you." Levi thinks he could happily spend several hours a day just looking at Roy without getting bored, though he acknowledges that Roy might find that creepy.

Roy frowns and shakes his head. "It's too many words. Too fast. I don't understand."

Levi takes a step forward, and now they're practically touching. "I want to _see_ you," he says, and pulls Roy's head down until their mouths meet.

Roy leans forward instinctively, then catches his breath and takes a half-step back, running a finger over his lips. "I—" he starts, then clears his throat. "That is 'kiss,' not 'see.' "

"Don't be a wise-ass," Levi says. "You know what I mean."

"Mmm," Roy murmurs. "I don't know I do. You say 'see,' but mean 'sex,' yes? You want sex, but you don't want to say me this?"

"Tell you," Levi says.

Roy makes a disgusted noise. "Say, tell, speak. You teach me the different later. But I'm right? You are an idiot because of this?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know what I want. Sex, yes, but maybe more than sex too." Levi clears his throat. "If you want that."

Roy is quiet, contemplative. It's frustrating to wonder how much of his delay in answering is simple processing time, either translating Levi's answer or finding the words for his own, and how much is genuine uncertainty. "I don't stay here, Levi. I go back to Amestris."

Amestris is where Roy's from. Nobody here has ever heard of it, not even Armin, who's read every book in the library on the world beyond the walls. Levi would think Roy had made it up, if it weren't for the language and the uniform and the alchemy. "I know."

"I don't know how many days I stay. _Vielleicht_ not many, _vielleicht_ many many."

"I know. It's all right. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Roy asks, perplexed. "You don't bring me here."

"I'm sorry for being an idiot."

"You are not an idiot." Roy manages a small grin. "You are a man. You don't know what you want and you run away. That is all _männer_ , here and in Amestris."

Ouch. Accurate, but painful. Levi takes comfort only from the fact that Roy has by default included himself in this enormous class of emotionally constipated cowards. "You're a man, and you didn't run away."

Roy shrugs wryly. "Where do I run?" He runs his fingers over his lips again and looks around his quarters, which after several minutes of cleaning are only slightly less disastrous than they were when Levi arrived. "I understand how you don't want me in your rooms," he says, then scowls. "Why, not how. Sorry. I understand why you give me this room."

If Roy understands it, then he's ahead of Levi, who is still trying to untangle the messy knot of his own motivations. There are the reasons Levi used to justify it to himself, and then there are the real reasons, which Levi hasn't really delved into. He isn't sure he wants to.

"I am not clean," Roy says. "I am messy. And I don't sleep well. And you don't know me very long. So it is, it's right I have a room for me."

Sleeping poorly is not an issue. No one sleeps worse than Levi during those few hours he manages it. "That's not it," Levi says. He catches himself drumming his fingers on his thigh and stills the motion forcibly. He is Humanity's Strongest Soldier. He doesn't have nerves. "It's nothing you did. It's nothing you are. It's me."

Roy blinks at him, then unexpectedly starts to laugh. "I"—he laughs again, and Levi has to struggle to keep his breath steady, because Roy laughing is like nothing Levi has ever been blessed enough to see. "Do you say me — _tch_ , do you _tell_ me, that the, the problem is not me, it is you?"

Levi furrows his forehead. "Um. Yes?"

"I"—Roy laughs some more, a little helplessly—"I, I am sorry, Levi, I know you do not try to … what is, what is it, when you make me _lachen_?"

The word for laugh is the same. "Funny?" Levi guesses. "You think I'm funny?"

"No." Despite his words, though, Roy chuckles again, though it looks like he's trying not to. "You are not funny. It is only the words. I, I speak them many times to … to people that I …" He shrugs with amusement. "It is the … the one time someone speak them to me. No, not one time. _Erste_ time?"

"First," Levi says. "Same word."

Roy nods. "I speak those words to people many times. It is different when you speak them to me." Then he scowls. "I know speak is not right. Is it tell or say?"

Levi considers. He has never in his life spent as much time thinking about synonyms as he has during the past week. It kind of makes his brain hurt. "Either. Tell or say." There's a distinction between the two, but he doubts he can articulate it in words Roy will understand. He's not sure he can even articulate it to himself. It's just something he knows.

Roy is scribbling something down in his notebook again, frowning. It looks like he's well into it already, pages and pages filled with words, some underlined, some with arrows connecting them, others crossed out messily and corrected in the margins. Levi imagines Roy sitting at his desk, the little lamp turned low, a drink at hand, writing for hours after a long day spent under Hange's microscope.

It seems sad and lonely, but then Levi thinks of how he spends his own nights tucked away in his quarters cleaning obsessively, studiously avoiding any human interaction whatsoever. That is sad and lonely too.

Except for the two nights Roy spent with Levi. Those nights weren't sad or lonely for either of them, and they were subjectively, objectively, and collectively the best nights in Levi's recent and not-so-recent memory. The few nights since have felt even sadder and lonelier. The worst part is that Levi did it to himself.

Well, he's already established that he's an idiot; this is just additional supporting evidence thereto.

"Roy," he says, voice firm, both to catch Roy's attention and to make it sound like he is sure of himself.

Roy looks up, pen still to paper. His expression is a little guarded.

"I'm not always a nice man," Levi says, voice slow and careful. "I'm not always a good man. I'm not easy to be around. I like my quarters very clean and I get angry easily and I don't really like other people."

Roy is listening hard, brown wrinkled in concentration. He shakes his head once. "I don't understand all the words. But"—He frowns—"You want your things clean, that is not meaning you are not a nice man."

"No," Levi agrees. "But I'm not. Most people don't like me."

Roy's mouth quirks up. "I am not most people," he says. "Riza say me this all the times. Time."

Levi gives up on "say" and "tell." Roy is going to have to figure out this particular linguistic issue on his own. And … no, Levi thinks. Roy is not most people. Most people, confronted with a terror they've never seen and can't truly fathom, would run away. Roy broke out of his cell and ran headlong into a pack of Titans. He's reckless. Impulsive. Hazardously unaware of the dangers of this world.

He's also courageous, smart and too damn sexy for his own good.

And for some incomprehensible reason, he seems to like Levi, even though most people really do not. Levi can count on one hand the number of people who can tolerate him for any length of time; it's a smaller number still that might actually call Levi a friend. Maybe only Moblit, because Moblit is kind of dumb and also impossible to shake, no matter how hard Levi tries.

"I thought you would want your own room," Levi says. "So you could be by yourself when you wanted. This is a new place. It must be scary." Levi gets scared sometimes too, but he keeps it to the privacy of his own quarters, where nobody else can see. He assumed Roy must be the same. Perhaps that was his first mistake.

Roy hums speculatively and cocks his head to the side. "Scary," he repeats. "That is like scared, yes? What is it?"

Levi curses himself for using a word they've already established that Roy doesn't know. "Um," he says. "Something that … that makes you go …" He cringes exaggeratedly, holding his arms up in front of his face and putting on a terrified expression. As always, he is grateful that no one else is around to see.

His play-acting seems to work, because Roy nods. "Ah, yes, I understand." Then he shrugs, an economical shift of muscle, smooth and graceful. "Titans are scary. This place is scary." He raises an eyebrow at Levi. "You are not scary."

Levi crosses his arms and huffs in indignation. "Most people think I'm scary."

Roy grins again, glib and gorgeous. Some kind of tension in him has eased. "I say you I am not most people." He reaches behind him for the glass on his desk and swallows the rest of his drink in one easy gulp, then licks his lips to clean them and takes a few steps forward, so he is very much in Levi's personal space. Levi fights the reflexive urge to back up, and Roy smiles down at him, pleased, like Levi's finally done something right. This close, Levi can smell the liquor on Roy's breath, a little bitter, a little fruity. It reminds him of the first time they'd kissed, Roy just the right side of sloppy drunk, horny and hot and eager.

"I don't know how many days I stay here," Roy says again, like Levi might have forgotten already. Despite the uneven lilt to his speech, his voice is smooth and mesmerizing. "But for the days I am here, I like to … to … _tch,_ I don't know the word … _verbringen_ … time with you."

"Spend," Levi says breathily. Roy is very close, and Levi can practically taste the liquor on his breath. It's making Levi feel a little drunk himself. He clears his throat. "Spend. Almost the same."

Roy hums agreement. "I like your words," he says, moving closer still. Only a few centimeters separate them now. "I like how you tell them. Your … what is _stimme?_ The, the … what I hear when you speak?"

" _Stem_ ," Levi says. He clears his throat again and says it more clearly. "Voice."

"Almost the same," Roy says. "But you are not the same. I know many people in Amestris. But no people are the same like you." He leans down then and kisses Levi, and Levi's pulse accelerates. He _wants_ with a ferocity that surprises him.

Roy breaks the kiss, and puffs out a little breath of air against Levi's lips, half a laugh and half a sigh. " _Du bist sehr gefährlich_ ," he murmurs. "You are very danger to me, Levi."

Levi's heart is thundering in his chest. His hands, he finds, are clenched in Roy's shirt. He doesn't know when that happened, and he doesn't seem to be able to let go. "I think you're the dangerous one."

" _Vielleicht_ we are dangerous _zusammen_ ," Roy says, with a quiet little laugh. He runs his fingers through Levi's hair, questing, a little possessive.

Roy is probably right, Levi concedes, as he leans back in and up for another kiss, a moan lurking in the back of his throat. Maybe they are dangerous together.

For the moment, at least, he can live with that.

* * *

Moblit is the first person Levi runs into the next morning, of course, and the smirk he gives Levi is so incredibly smug, Levi just flips him off without saying a word.

"No, seriously," Moblit says, running to catch up, "I'm happy for you. The whole Corps is happy for you. Also, I heard that about 50 people requisitioned ear plugs this morning, but that could just be a coincidence."

Levi stops in his tracks, turned, and fixes his most vicious glare on Moblit. "I will flay you alive."

"Hmm," Moblit says thoughtfully. "You know, you're not half as scary when I can see the hickeys on your neck." He pats Levi on the shoulder and lopes away before Levi has the presence of mind to respond. It is intolerable, and Levi is going to hurt him for it at the next convenient opportunity.

"So," Erwin says, when Levi reports in a few minutes later, still fuming and plotting revenge, "I presume everything's resolved, then." If Levi didn't know better, he'd swear there was a glint of amusement in Erwin's eyes.

"Go to hell," Levi says, on principle.

"Good idea. I could use a vacation." Without missing a beat, Erwin slides a file across his desk. "I heard from Command. They've agreed to let Roy stay with the Corps temporarily while his language skills improve. These are provisional identification papers and authorization for him to start drawing a salary."

Levi lets out a breath he hasn't realized he'd been holding. "That's good news."

"Mmm. Start training him on the ODM gear. You have six weeks."

Levi's brain stops working for a very long moment, and only slowly starts again. "Six weeks," he repeats dumbly. Whatever relief he'd been feeling has evaporated in the face of Erwin's insanity. "That's crazy."

"Six weeks," Erwin says again, opening a file and starting to read. Apparently in his opinion the conversation has reached its conclusion. "The next expedition is in two months. If you want him to stay here with us permanently, he needs to go out and kill some Titans so I can prove this is the best use of his skills, but I'm not taking him along unless he can use the gear."

"But six _weeks_? Fuck, Erwin, he's not 15 with an inner ear made of rubber." Roy's 31, which is probably still young enough to learn the gear, but definitely too old to rush it: the older the soldier, the harder it is to get accustomed to the shifts in attitude and velocity the ODM gear demands.

"Six weeks." Erwin scribbles his signature on the top for in the file, closes it, and reaches for the next. "It's non-negotiable."

"Well, fuck," Levi mutters sourly.

Erwin isn't even looking at him. "Oh, and get him a uniform, would you? Those outfits he's been wearing are making all the women's ovaries explode."

"You realize most of them would literally kill you if they heard you say that."

Erwin grunts. "Get him a uniform. Half the men are walking around with hard-ons. Better?"

Privately, Levi thinks it's more than half. There are very few males in the camp as stoutly heterosexual as Erwin; Levi suspects that even most of the purportedly straight guys would happily explore bisexuality for a night with Roy, especially if they knew that he is actually even better in bed than he looks like he'd be. A dark thread of jealousy curls through his gut at the thought of Roy with anybody else. Levi will be damned before he lets some other guy weasel his way into bed with Roy, never mind how fuckable Roy looks, never mind how fuckable Roy actually _is_ … and that, he thinks suddenly, disconcerted, is dangerously possessive, what the fuck?

Erwin has started working on a report and is ignoring Levi altogether, which is good, because Levi wouldn't have wanted to guess at his own expression, except that it's probably scary and all too telling. He schools his face into something more neutral. "I'll take care of it."

Erwin looks up and is seemingly startled to find Levi still in the room. "Good." He stares at Levi for a moment longer, quirking an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

"No," Levi says shortly.

"Good." Erwin bends back down over his paperwork as if Levi has already left.

Fuck you very much too, Levi grumbles in his own head, and lets himself out of the office.

* * *

 _Are you kidding me_ , Roy thinks, upside down, disoriented, and completely nauseated. _There is no way._

Boots appear in his line of vision, then Levi's head, inverted. "Better," he says. "Ten seconds, this time. _Bijna_ as good as a trainee."

Roy would sear him, just a little bit, not enough to scar, just to sting, if only the world weren't still spinning.

Levi flips a switch. The equipment hums and jerks Roy back right side up in a way that does absolutely nothing to help his nausea. "Again," Levi says.

" _No_ ," Roy says, fumbling uselessly at the harness. The world is blurry around the edges of his vision, the faded brown of wooden scaffolding disturbingly reminiscent of gallows, flashes of green grass, trees stretching to the sky, their leaves a riot of late autumn yellows and reds. "Let me out, Levi."

Levi tsks at him, hands on his hips. "You need _oefenen_."

 _Oefenen,_ Roy thinks. _Oefenen_ , _oefenen_ … to practice? Probably. He thinks Levi taught him that word already. He'd probably be certain if only so much of his attention weren't focused on not throwing up.

"I need to have out," Roy says, teeth gritted.

"You need to _get_ out," Levi corrects.

"I need to get out," Roy says. The sun is beating down and he's sweating profusely in his brand-new uniform, which isn't helping his nausea any. "I need to get out _now_ , Levi."

Levi just stands there, stern and impassive, arms crossed. "You won't get better if you _stopt._ "

"I won't get better if I _mich übergeben muss,_ " Roy grinds out.

Levi frowns. " _Übergeben_ … wait, _overgeven?"_ He blanches and darts forward. "Fuck it, hold on …"

"I am holding on," Roy says, clutching the anchor lines. It at least helps to keep him steady, even if it isn't going to be enough to settle his stomach.

"I mean wait a minute, the fucking _gesp_ is _vast_."

Roy has no idea what that means, except that he is still trapped in the gear, and his stomach isn't having any of it. "Levi, _now_."

"Give me a minute! Fuck, I can't get it … god damn it, _open_ , you fucking piece of shit."

A hazard, or maybe a benefit, of being intimate with Levi is that Roy is sure he already knows more or less every possible curse word anybody here is ever likely to say to him. It would be funnier, except Roy is also sure he's about to be sick all over his nice new Survey Corps uniform. He has less than 30 seconds, he thinks. " _Levi._ "

"I know, I know, just …" With a frustrated shout, Levi wrenches at the sticky clasp with both hands. The harness pops open and Roy tumbles gracelessly to the ground, where he is promptly and noisily sick.

Twice.

"I like to do that never more," Roy mumbles a few minutes later. He kneels back, wipes his mouth and spits a few times for good measure.

"Vomit?" Levi is standing a few feet away, looking queasy and disgusted. "Nobody ever _wants_ to vomit."

"No," Roy says. "Yes, vomit, but I mean … meaned?"

"Meant."

"I meant _that_ ," Roy says, gesturing with distaste at the training equipment. "I think I stay on the ground all the times. Time."

Levi frowns. "It's safer in the air."

"It's safer for you, maybe," Roy says. "I cannot transmute if I am … _was ist …_ what is … _kopfüber?_ My head at my feet and my feet at my head?"

"Upside down." Levi looks at the mess at Roy's feet, grimacing. "We should clean that up."

Roy kicks some dirt over it, then some more for good measure, and settles down against a tree, leaning back with his eyes closed. He is still dizzy.

After a moment, Levi sits down next to him. "I'll let you stop for today, but we'll try again tomorrow."

Roy groans. "You are not … not _ernst_."

"I am serious. Your alchemy makes you powerful, very powerful, but you're not _onoverwinnelijk_."

" _Onoverwinn…_ "

" _Onoverwinnelijk._ It means you can't be beaten."

 _Oniverwinnelijk_. Not over-winned, Roy thinks. "Like _unüberwindlich_ ," he says. "The same. But not the same same."

"Not the exact same," Levi corrects.

"Not the exact same," Roy murmurs. It's easier to just think about vocabulary, not the fact that he is lost in a strange world, that he has no idea how the hell he is going to get home, that he is probably going to die a messy, horrible death at the hand — teeth — of a monstrous, soulless creature, and that he is slowly coming to realize he likes Levi just a little too much.

Maybe more than just a little, because he had voluntarily agreed to get into this death contraption, and Roy generally likes to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. Worse, even now that he knows that using this "ODM gear" — Levi hasn't bothered to explain the acronym — is something no sane person would ever attempt while sober, he still guesses he'll be back out here tomorrow, and there is absolutely no good reason for that except that Levi wants it, and if Roy does it, Levi will be pleased. Levi might even smile. Roy has quickly become a little obsessed with Levi's smiles, brief and infrequent and brilliant like the sunrise over the river in the spring.

All right. He definitely likes Levi a little too much. This is something he figures he should probably keep to himself. Levi had run, which had been an unpleasant surprise and unexpectedly discomfiting. Then Levi had come back, but he's still cautious and twitchy and if Roy presses too hard, he isn't sure Levi won't bolt again.

" _Doorgans_ ," Levi says, "we teach people to use the gear in three months."

Roy can't decide if he's lucky or cursed to have half the time. The thought of drawing this torture out over six extra weeks is exceedingly unappealing. "What if I not learn can? _Tch._ Can't learn?"

Levi frowns at him, unamused. "You'll learn. I'm the best teacher you could have."

"But what if I don't?"

"You will."

"But what if I _can't_? It makes me vomit and my head is …" He makes a spinning motion with his fingers.

"You're dizzy. I know. Everyone is dizzy the first time."

"They don't all vomit. Armin telled me this."

"Told," Levi says, tone sour, probably because Roy mentioned Armin. Levi doesn't seem to like Armin. Levi doesn't seem to like _any_ of the recruits. Then Levi shrugs. "Some people get sick. You're older. It's going to be harder for you. But you'll learn." He sighs. "You have to learn, or you can't stay."

Roy wants to stay. Roy wants to stay with Levi and his fussy cleaning compulsions and his strange food aversions and his infrequent smiles, and if staying means Roy has to learn to use the damned gear, he is going to learn. But that doesn't mean he's going to like it. "I will learn," he says, conceding. He risks opening his eyes; his stomach accepts it, if grudgingly.

Levi rises to his feet and brushes off the dirt from the bottom of his pants. "Feeling better? We should get back. It's getting late."

Roy stands up slowly, holding onto the tree for support. The world tilts, but only a little, then settles. "I'm okay, I think."

"Not going to vomit again?"

"No … ?" Or so Roy sincerely hopes. His mouth tastes foul. He needs to brush his teeth before he runs into anyone else.

Levi takes a large step away. "Uh huh. Tomorrow, eat a smaller lunch."

Roy thinks he'll skip lunch entirely tomorrow, just to be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time ... but the good news is the next one should be up on Friday! So there's that.
> 
> As always, comments = love! They do make my day like you wouldn't believe.


	6. Flame alchemists and ODM gear don't get along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy doesn't feel very good.
> 
> Levi:  
> The dizziness is worrisome. The vomiting is also worrisome, the headaches are worrisome, the occasional blurred vision is worrisome. Levi has never been so worried in all his life. Sometimes he thinks it would be better if Roy didn't stay with them, if that meant he wouldn't have to subject himself to this daily ordeal. Maybe there is something wrong with Roy, some physical reason he can't use the gear; maybe forcing him to use it every day is making whatever is wrong with Roy _worse_.
> 
> Roy:  
> Roy frowns, dropping a low diamond. "What is _pletten_?"
> 
> Lotte exchanges a helpless glance with Mike and Nicklas, and Roy regrets having asked. Mike is hopeless at defining words but Lotte and Nicklas are not much better. "Um," Lotte says. "It's"—she stomps down on an imaginary bug, then grinds her heel into the floor—"you know. _Pletten_."
> 
> Smush or squash or flatten, Roy supposes. Which is not a very nice image, if he is the hapless bug in the scenario.

Three weeks in, and Levi is starting to get a little anxious. Roy is not taking to the ODM gear very well, far less well than Levi had anticipated, even granting his age. It isn't that Roy is a bad student. He's anything but, actually. Roy is focused and diligent and smart, he doesn't ask stupid questions, and he doesn't get frustrated when he can't do something on the first try. What he does do is get sick, repeatedly.

"You know, it was kind of funny at first," Moblit says worriedly, looking without really looking at where Roy is hunched over on his hands and knees, retching. "I mean, he's so powerful with his alchemy, it was funny that just a short flight would hit him so hard, but it's been weeks and it doesn't seem like it's getting much better."

Levi nods tersely, nibbling at a ragged fingernail.

"If he were anyone else," Hange says off-handedly, standing off to the side in a bright patch of sunlight, seemingly oblivious to the heat, "we'd have cut him already."

"I'm aware," Levi replies. He catches himself going for a different nail and shoves his hands in his pockets. He does not bite his fingernails. It is unhygienic and a too obviously visible sign of tension.

Roy sits back on his heels, spits, and wipes his mouth. Armin hovers nervously over his shoulder with a towel and a bottle of water, which Roy takes without looking. The sun beats down on his face; he's pale and sweaty and a little green. He looks wrung out and exhausted and utterly, utterly miserable.

"It's the turns," Hange offers, logging something in a notebook. "He's fine when he goes in a straight line. As soon as he swerves, then"—Hange makes a disgusting retching noise that Levi didn't really need to hear—"it's all over."

Roy lurches to his feet, swaying, Armin's hand on his elbow possibly the only thing keeping him upright. For a minute, Levi is sure Roy is going to throw up again. But then the green tint begins fading from Roy's skin and he takes a deep, steadying breath. "Okay," he says doggedly, and picks up the harness again.

"He's persistent, I'll give him that," Moblit says, but he doesn't sound happy about it. He has spent more time with Roy than anyone but Levi, always present when Roy is training and acting as his unofficial chaperone on the occasions that Levi is busy with his other duties. Levi is grateful for Moblit's attentiveness, especially because Hange, if left unchecked, would run Roy into the ground.

Hange flips back a page in the notebook and peers analytically at the notes written there. "It can't be healthy, vomiting that often. Have you taken him to the infirmary?"

"Yes," Levi says tersely. Roy had been reluctant to go but had acceded to Levi's persuasive tactics of half seduction, half bullying. Once in the infirmary, of course, Roy had been all pleasantries and warm smiles, charming the doctors and nurses with his stumbled attempts at describing and downplaying his symptoms. "They gave him something for motion sickness but it makes him groggy so he won't take it."

Hange grunts irritably and turns to watch Roy getting strapped back into his gear, standing pale and shaky on the launch pad like he's on a scaffold with a noose around his neck. Armin secures the last buckle and steps back, sending a scalding glare in Levi's direction, because Roy is only putting himself through this torture for Levi, and everybody knows it.

"Have you spoken to Erwin?" Moblit asks, as Eren finishes checking the gas tanks, giving a perky thumbs up. "Maybe he'd—"

"No exceptions," Levi says flatly. "You know what Erwin's like about the gear. It's not up for debate."

Moblit sighs. Everybody knows what Erwin's like about the gear.

"He's launching," Hange says, and clicks the stopwatch.

Roy shoots up from the launchpad smoothly and heads towards the first checkpoint. He had gotten the hang of take-off quickly, which just proves to Levi that he'd be fine with the rest of the maneuvers too, if only they didn't upset his stomach so badly.

"Four seconds," Hange hums. "Not horrible."

Levi doesn't answer. Four seconds is fine, not great, but perfectly acceptable, but getting to the first checkpoint is never Roy's problem, so the fact that he did it in four seconds doesn't prove anything.

Roy veers off to the right towards the second checkpoint, making the turn smoothly enough, but he's wobbling in a way that doesn't bode any better for this attempt than for any of his previous ones. Still, he makes it to the second checkpoint and veers hard around to the left to aim for the third, squinting, probably a little sun-blind, but the sun doesn't always cooperate when the Titans attack either. A little late, he chokes the throttle to decelerate, so he hits the third checkpoint too fast but not dangerously so. Venting gas, he swings back around to the right and up over the tip of the obstacle, a tower made rickety by too many recruits smashing into it.

Hange hums, and Moblit lets out a little grunt of surprise. "He hasn't made it past the tower before, has he?"

"No," Levi says, nibbling at a nail, then catching himself at it and stopping.

"That's good," Moblit says.

Levi grunts. "He's not going to make it past the tree. He's over-balancing."

"You're so negative," Moblit says. "It must be depressing dating you."

In the next instant, Roy fails to properly adjust his momentum to maneuver as sharply as he needs to, and ends up in a heap at the base of the trunk of a much-battered maple tree, a carpet of leaves and mulch and grass beneath him.

"Oof," Moblit says, wincing. "Shit, that one looks like it hurt."

Levi sighs. It does look like that one hurt, though not enough to break bones. Beside him, Hange is busy making notes. "He _is_ getting marginally better," Hange says. "You have three more weeks. He might able to pass the assessment."

"He'll pass," Levi says firmly, and starts off towards where Roy is being tended to by a frenetic Armin and solicitous Eren. The boys pull Roy to a sitting position and start wiping dirt off his uniform and pulling leaves out of his hair.

"Nice attempt," Levi says, when he gets there.

Roy shoots him a nasty look and mutters something under his breath in his own language that is probably incredibly foul and horribly offensive. He looks green again but isn't vomiting, which is something.

"I'm serious," Levi says, bending over to brush some mulch off one of the gear handles. "You just need to work on your balance."

Roy spits something back that is also incomprehensible and probably deeply foul. Levi is pretty sure at least half the words are obscenities, which is funny because Roy is perfectly capable of cursing in Levi's language, but he doesn't like to do it around Eren and Armin and the other younger soldiers, as if he is afraid of offending their sensibilities or possibly tarnishing their opinion of him. It is sweet and naïve: Levi doubts Roy could offend the sensitivities of anyone in the Corps with a little bad language, certainly not this particular group of recruits, and it is just as doubtful that anything Roy does or says will ever dim their opinion of him.

When Roy is reasonably free from dirt and leaves, and he has drunk enough water by Armin's exacting standards, Levi takes a step back to assess his condition. He's not bleeding anywhere and he doesn't appear to be in any great discomfort, so he's probably not very seriously injured. Still, Roy is stubborn and stoic and occasionally reckless with his own well-being, so Levi asks, "Are you feeling all right?"

"I am feeling fine," Roy says. But then a breeze rustles the branches and a stray beam of sunlight cuts through a hole in the leaves, hitting Roy right in the face. Roy winces and turns away, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye.

Levi feels a flicker of alarm. "Headache?"

Roy nods slightly, a tiny little movement. "Only small. Not very bad."

"Not very bad _yet_." As if the nausea isn't bad enough, training for too long on the gear often gives Roy a headache, and if he pushes it for too long afterwards, the headache turns into a migraine and he's out of commission for the rest of the day. "I think you've had enough."

About ten different emotions sweep in quick succession across Roy's face, almost too rapidly to categorize: relief, at first; then guilt; then gratitude, then several different flavors of stubbornness. "I can do again."

"Do _it_ again, and I'm sure you can, but it's not worth it. Let's just call it a day."

Roy frowns and tries to rub some dirt off his knees, with little success. The stains are ground in and will have to be scrubbed. He still has a few leaves in his hair that Eren and Armin missed. "Call what a day?"

Levi doesn't have it in him to explain every idiomatic phrase coming out of his mouth, and so he usually just doesn't bother. "Forget it. You've been out here for two hours. That's enough for today. Come on." Levi reaches a hand down, and Roy consents to being pulled to his feet. He sways for a moment. Armin jerks towards him, seemingly involuntarily; Eren more intelligently jerks out of vomit-range. But Roy keeps his balance and his breakfast, though it looks like a close thing.

"Dizzy," Roy murmurs, shaking his head like he is trying to clear his vision, which only proves Levi's point that Roy has had enough.

Levi waits for Roy to get a little steadier on his feet. Roy's hand is warm and sweaty wrapped around Levi's own, Roy's fingers blunt and wide and calloused, the crucifixion scars bumpy like protruding veins. Roy's got another scar on the back of his right hand, too, pale faint scratch marks in a crude circle. That scar is only visible in bright light, but Levi can feel it, and he traces the pattern around with his thumb, trying not to fret too much or too obviously.

The dizziness is worrisome. The vomiting is also worrisome, the headaches are worrisome, the occasional blurred vision is worrisome. Levi has never been so worried in all his life. Sometimes he thinks it would be better if Roy didn't stay with them, if that meant he wouldn't have to subject himself to this daily ordeal. Maybe there is something wrong with Roy, some physical reason he can't use the gear; maybe forcing him to use it every day is making whatever is wrong with Roy _worse._

"Come on," Levi says, when Roy no longer seems in imminent danger of falling over, "let's get you out of the gear."

"I won't learn if I don't practice," Roy says in a not-very-convincing display of reluctance. His hands are already drifting down to the straps around his waist.

"Don't spit my words back at me." Levi reaches down for the buckles on Roy's thighs, and if that is nothing more than a blatant attempt to feel Roy up, what of it? Levi hasn't had a regular lover in years and he's enjoying the hell out of it. Levi strokes the inside of Roy's thigh accidentally-on-purpose and grins to himself at the hungry little noise that comes out of Roy's throat in response. Armin squeaks and scurries away.

"Levi," Roy warns, low and hoarse. Levi shivers, wondering just for an instant how far he can push it. Roy is shameless in bed, sensual and sybaritic. He has no discernible boundaries, or none that Levi's managed to trip over, and he loves sex best when it's loud and boisterous, no matter that everyone in the building can hear them at it. But outside of the bedroom is different; Roy never touches Levi where anybody can see him do it, not in a way that could be perceived as intimate: he never even so much as pats Levi on the ass, which nobody else here would even blink at. Moblit pats his ass all the time, and that means nothing but that Moblit has an ass fixation and Levi has a hell of a fine one.

Well, this probably isn't the moment to experiment, when Roy is still shaky and has vomit breath besides. Maybe later, when Roy has brushed his teeth and bathed and eaten, maybe when his hair is still curling damply at the nape of his neck, beads of moisture dripping down between his shoulder blades, placed perfectly for Levi to lick them off …

" _Levi_." Roy's eyes are wide and he looks torn between pulling away and pushing closer. Levi sighs and straightens, then sets about unbuckling the rest of the gear in an entirely professional manner, not even a single stray fingertip to raise anybody's eyebrow.

"I'll walk you back so you can clean up," Levi says, before Armin can volunteer. "Then I have to go check in with Erwin, but do you want to come into town with me this afternoon, after you rest a bit?"

Roy's eyes brighten. He hasn't been off the base since the day he arrived, and he's been eager to see more of the surrounding area. "Yes, I will like that."

"Would like."

Roy mutters something nasty (probably) in Amestrian (presumably). Someday Levi is going to sit down with a notebook and learn every single obscenity Roy knows, not only so he can finally figure out exactly what Roy is calling him, but also to expand his own library of expletives that he can apply to people like Erwin, for instance, or the assholes in Command.

Levi leaves Armin and Eren to take the gear back to be serviced and refueled, and signals to Moblit and Hange that Roy is done for the day. "Tomorrow, right after breakfast," Hange calls out, while Moblit waves goodbye.

It's still mid-spring, but the air is unseasonably warm, especially with the sun overhead and no clouds in the sky. The practice range is about as far away from the officers' dormitories as it's possible to get while still staying on base, and Levi and Roy take it leisurely, Roy still a little queasy and Levi in no particular rush to get to his meeting with Erwin, especially when the weather is so nice out. Levi has been above ground now for over a decade, but the feel of the sun on his face still startles him sometimes.

Roy's enjoying the weather too, or so it seems, content to walk along in silence for a few minutes. He lets go of Levi's hands before they've even left the practice grounds, but he walks so close to Levi that their arms brush against each other with every fourth or fifth step. Levi enjoys the brief touches, the feel of Roy's biceps round and solid under his jacket.

The stables stand at the edge of the practice grounds, with stalls for dozens of horses, and the stink is overwhelming; out of reflex, Levi cuts across the green to the other side of the courtyard so as to avoid the stench. Next to the stables is the armory, a sprawling complex as long as a dormitory and four floors high, with a steady stream of people flowing in and out of the massive front door. Half a dozen visiting military policemen are congregated on the stairs, lounging in the sun. They look innocuous but Levi doesn't trust anyone who'd join the police brigade voluntarily.

Roy follows Levi's gaze to the police, and eyes them with curiosity. He looks interested but not suspicious. Of course, from this distance it's hard to make out the patches that distinguish the police from the Scouts, and Levi's not sure anyone's ever explained the distinction to Roy. Then again, Roy is smart and observant, and very familiar with how the military works from his own experiences in Amestris.

Central administration is next to the armory; the infirmary is centrally located right across the green, a building almost as massive as the armory. A crew dressed in paint-splattered coveralls is whitewashing the front façade; Roy raises his hand in greeting and waves. Someone Levi doesn't know waves back.

"Levi," Roy says thoughtfully, as they pass the mess hall. He has been silent and pensive since they left the training range. "All the people in the Corps," Roy says. "They fight only Titans?"

Levi's not sure what Roy is trying to get at. They do fight Titans, but the main mission of the Survey Corps is actually exploration. Maybe it doesn't seem that way to Roy. Maybe no one's ever told him. "Yes."

Roy takes a few more steps in silence. "You do not fight people?"

"Not usually."

Roy's quiet, mouthing 'usually,' but the word must be similar enough or else he gets it from the context. "People fight people in Amestris," he says eventually. They are past the mess hall and veer off to the barracks, walking along a sun-dappled path lined unevenly with towering elm trees, their leaves just beginning to unfurl. "People fight people all the days." Roy frowns. "That isn't … what is _jeden_? _Jeden_ day. This day and this day and this day …?"

"Every day."

Roy hums. "Every day. People fight people every day in Amestris. They fight and they kill. But people don't kill people here."

"Not usually. Sometimes." Levi is silent for a few measured steps. "Where I grew up, people killed people all the time."

"Grew up? What is it?"

Levi frowns at him, wondering if Roy is making a short joke, which Roy has started doing with some regularity, almost with impunity, but never with malice. It seems to be affectionate, if anything, and it also seems that he has quite a large stable of short jokes to choose from, even with his limited vocabulary. But Roy's expression is thoughtful, not teasing, so Levi concludes the query is legitimate.

"Grow up," Levi says. "To get older." He gestures.

"Ah. I understand. Grow up is the same as get taller. But you do not live here when you are … was? … a boy?"

"Were," Levi said. "He was, but you were."

Roy groans. "I am bad every time with 'to be.' "

"Wrong," Levi said. "You're wrong every time. But you're not, really. Usually you get it right." Roy's frustration with his language abilities is bizarre to Levi, who isn't sure how quickly an adult should ordinarily be able to learn a new language but is sure it ought to take longer than it has, even if half their words seem to be the same. Roy is far from fluent but he can usually make himself understood, and Levi thinks that's pretty amazing considering Roy's only been here a little more than a month. But Levi's also gotten the sense that Roy's a bit of a perfectionist, which is something that Levi, for all his compulsive tendencies, is not, at least for any matters unrelated to cleanliness and hygiene.

Levi has tried to tell Roy how well he's doing, but Levi is not well suited for cheerleading and Roy seems deaf to anything Levi has to say on this particular matter. "To be' is the most bad," Roy says grumpily. " _Tch._ Worst." He clucks with irritation. "I know many languages, and 'to be' is all the times impossible. It makes me _verrückt_." He makes a funny motion with his fingers by his head and bugs his eyes out in exaggerated mania. Then, releasing stress and air in a long slow huff, he asks, "You do not live here when you _were_ a boy?"

"Did not," Levi corrects. "Did not, and no, I didn't. I lived in the Underground until I joined the Corps."

Whatever Roy's own misperception of his fluency, Roy has gotten so good with Levi's language that Levi forgets sometimes to speak slowly enough. Levi waits for a moment while Roy parses the sentence, repeating it under his breath, stumbling a bit over 'until' and 'joined.' Then, "Underground?" Roy enunciates it carefully. "Under is…" He puts one hand below the other and waves the bottom one. "This is under, yes?"

Levi jams his hands in his pockets. "Yes."

"Underground is … under the ground?" Roy scuffs at the path with his toe. "Ground? You lived under the ground? In a … _ahm,_ a tunnel? You understand the word?"

"It's the same. But no. Not in a tunnel. There's a city under the ground here."

Roy blinks, looking baffled. "A city?"

"Um. It's a, it's like a village. You know that word?"

"Village," Roy repeats. He says the word to himself, replacing one of the consonants with another similar one, and nods. "Yes."

"Right," Levi says. "A city is a very big village. Lots of people. Um. 'Lots' is many."

Roy still appears confounded. "City is the same word. Many people. But … how is there a city under the ground?"

Levi shrugs. "I don't know. It's always been there. Not always, obviously, but for as long as anyone can remember."

"But you remember … how long only? One hundred years?"

"Yeah," Levi says. They are outside the barracks now, in front of the door that is closest to Roy's quarters. "That must sound strange to you."

Roy laughs wryly. "Not more strange than Titans who eat people. Do many people live in the city that is underground?"

Levi shrugs. "A hundred thousand, maybe."

Large numbers always take Roy a little time to translate, so he stands with one hand on the knob, thinking. "One hundred thousand. Moblit says me, _tch,_ tells me, there are only one million people here."

To Levi, a million sounds like far too many people to be qualified with an 'only,' but he isn't sure anyone really knows how many people live inside the walls, only that there are a lot fewer of them than there were before the Titans breached Wall Maria. If anyone knows, though, it will be Moblit, who has the ability to ferret out all sorts of otherwise useless trivia. Levi doesn't see why it matters how many people there are, unless the population gets so high or so low as to be alarming.

"I don't know," Levi says. "Maybe."

Roy hums. "If he is right, then there are, _ahm_ , what is _ein zehntel?_ One out of every ten?"

"A tenth." There's a word for these kind of counting numbers, but Levi doesn't know it. Honestly, until he met Roy, he hadn't ever even thought about it, or about half the things he thinks about daily, now.

"A tenth," Roy repeats. "A tenth of your people live in this underground city?"

"I guess so."

Roy's eyes are bright and curious. "Maybe you will take me there to see it?"

Levi frowns at him "Why? It's a shithole. People spend their lives doing everything they can to leave."

"But I will — _tch_ , would — like to see it."

Levi gives him a long, assessing look. "They'd eat you alive."

Roy blinks, taken aback. "Not … not _eigentlich_?"

" _Eigentlich_? Oh. They wouldn't actually eat you, no. They're not Titans. But …" Levi shrugs. "You're too handsome for the Underground."

After a brief pause, Roy gives Levi a suspicious look. "What is 'handsome'?" He sounds like he's wondering if he should be insulted.

Levi almost … almost! … laughs at the pout on Roy's face, but manages to twist his expression into a leer at the last minute. "Attractive? You're nice to look at." He eyes Roy up and down, who even with a smear of dirt on his cheek and bits of leaves in his hair is still the most attractive person on base, probably in the city, possibly in the entire world, though Levi admits he might be a little biased. "Very nice to look at."

Roy flushes hot and hard, which is ridiculous considering he's surely spent his life being leered at, and is perfectly content to play off his looks to his advantage. "I'm not more nice to look at than you."

Levi hums skeptically, still ogling. This is not the first time Roy has complimented Levi's appearance, and Levi has come to believe Roy is sincere. Deluded, but sincere. Or perhaps the standards are so different in Amestris that Levi would be considered attractive there, despite his lack of height and his plain, blunt features, and the pattern of faint pox marks speckled asymmetrically across the bridge of his nose. Or perhaps Roy is as biased in his own way as Levi.

The doorknob twists under Roy's hands and the door opens. Mike comes out, blinks at seeing the two of them standing there, then steps around to the side. He nods at Levi neutrally and smiles with considerably more friendliness at Roy, reaching up to pull a small twig out of Roy's hair. "Any better today?"

Roy scowls. "Only a little."

"He made it past the tower," Levi says.

"That's great," Mike says, at the same time as Roy says, "I hit a tree." Roy pantomimes the incident.

Mike winces and Levi lies, "It wasn't that bad."

"It was that bad," Roy says firmly. "Levi lies. I will be bruising on my whole body."

Mike grins. "Then Levi will just have to kiss it all better. You playing tonight, Roy?" He's talking about troeven, a card game from his home region. The Corps is home to a small but determined league of players who have a fierce, ongoing tournament, with a complicated rotation of players and a scoring bracket posted on a wall in the mess hall.

"Yes," Roy says. "I'm being soon out of gin." Despite having never played the game before arriving, he is already in the top bracket, and most of his personal items have come from troeven victories. _I played many cards from when I am a boy,_ he had told Levi, early on, when Levi had wondered exactly how Roy had gathered so much stuff so quickly. There's a story there, Levi thinks, but Levi doesn't press Roy for details about his life back in Amestris, because talking about Amestris always makes Roy sad.

Mike laughs, tells Roy he'll see him after dinner, then walks off with a wave.

"I have to wash," Roy says, when Mike is gone. "When will we go into town?"

"I should be back in an hour," Levi says optimistically. Check-ins with Erwin are unpredictable, but Erwin will probably let Levi skip out if Levi tells him he has another appointment. "You won't need to wear your uniform."

Roy brightens. In Levi's opinion, Roy's uniform is exceptionally flattering, but Roy doesn't love the style or the color, and never wears it when he doesn't have to. From the glint in Roy's eye, Levi's betting that Roy's going to choose the blue shirt, because he knows how horny it makes Levi.

And if that's the case … well. Levi's not going to complain.

* * *

"Spades," Roy says, then waits for Lotte to deal the remaining cards. His hand is decidedly mediocre. Hopefully, Mike's cards are better. Roy leads the jack of hearts, and relaxes into the game. It is very similar to kujong, which Roy's been playing since he was a young boy. His aunt played for pennies and neither his tears nor his pouts ever moved her to yield a victory; he could only win by playing well enough to beat her, and every lost penny increased his motivation. By the time Roy was eight he could hustle the drunks at the bar.

"So," Nicklas says, after the first hand is finished and they're tallying up the points. Nicklas is also an excellent player, though he's got a tell when he's holding an ace. "When's your ODM test, Roy?"

Roy tenses and almost flubs the shuffle. "Two weeks," he says, cutting the deck and dealing out four cards to each player, starting with Nicklas on his left, then Mike, then Lotte.

Nicklas looks at his hand and scowls at the cards. "Are you ready?"

"Not yet." Roy is definitely not ready. Not yet, maybe not ever. Levi keeps telling him he's making progress, and he supposes he is, but the nausea and dizziness are still debilitating, and no amount of practice is going to help with that problem. He wouldn't pass himself if were doing the evaluation, and he has no reason to believe Erwin will relax his reputedly exacting standards for Roy. Roy doesn't know what he will do if he fails. He knows he is only allowed to stay on the base on Erwin's sufferance, pending successful certification on the gear; he knows it is only Erwin's interference that has kept Roy safe from what passes for the military leadership on this world.

Roy has never failed an exam in his life. But he is desperately afraid this will be the first.

"Hearts," Nicklas says finally, and Roy deals out the rest of the cards and wrests his attention back to the game.

When Mike is on lead, he sets spades as trumps again, which works out spectacularly well for their partnership. After the hand is done, while Nicklas and Lotte heckle each other over their strategy, Mike pours Roy a glass of wine. It is just the home brew from Mike's still, but Roy has never met an alcoholic beverage he didn't like, and Mike's mediocre wine is still far better than the swill Roy used to drink in Ishval.

"Mmm," Roy says appreciatively, after swallowing the first sip. "This is better than the last one. What did you take … no, put … in it?"

" _Jeneverbessen_ ," Mike says, which is a kind of berry. Juniper, Roy thinks. The bushes grow wild on the hills outside the walls but are cultivated in the nearby countryside; Levi is particularly fond of the tea. "And _kaneel_."

Roy has no idea what kaneel is, but he has mostly given up asking Mike to explain when he uses a word Roy doesn't know. Mike is hopeless at it. Roy will just ask Levi later.

Lotte and Nicklas finish their squabbling, and Mike deals the first half of the next hand. "I don't think you should worry about the test," Lotte says, bringing up a topic Roy had been happy to let die. "Everyone knows Levi won't let Erwin fail you. Spades."

Roy frowns. His hand does not look particularly good for spades, and from the exasperated expression on Mike's face, his hand is not good for spades either. "I don't think Levi has any — is it control? — over Erwin."

"Yes, control," Lotte says. Mike deals the second half of the hand, and Lotte picks up her four cards and starts slotting them into her hand, frowning slightly with concentration over one of the cards, likely a diamond by its position and sure to be her first lead. "And it's not control so much as"—she places the nine of diamonds onto the table—"power, I suppose. Levi and Erwin have never liked each other, everyone knows that, but Erwin needs Levi, and that gives Levi power."

Roy drops the seven of diamonds to signal Mike, not that they have a chance of winning this hand anyway, and ponders what Lotte said. It's true that Erwin needs Levi, but Roy thinks Lotte is overestimating how much power that gives Levi. If Erwin always did what Levi wanted, Levi wouldn't be so pissed off at Erwin all the time. "If Levi believes that," Roy says, "he will not be so … is it _besorgt_?" He raises his eyebrows and purses his lips in an exaggerated display of worry.

" _Bezorgd_ ," Lotte says. "He's just worried about you being safe, that's all."

"Maybe," Roy says, but he's unconvinced. If Levi thought he could sway Erwin, he would not be pushing Roy so hard; he would still want Roy competent on the gear but he wouldn't be so concerned with meeting Erwin's seemingly arbitrary deadline. Roy takes another, larger sip of his wine, which is almost palatable.

Nicklas's king takes the trick and he leads back a low diamond, which Lotte is certainly going to trump, and the hand is basically already over, given the crap Roy is holding. But such is the way of troeven. Anyway, if he always won, no one would want to play with him, and Roy is dependent on his winnings in the betting pool to keep himself stocked with a few little luxuries, like tea that doesn't taste like dirt, soap that doesn't take off his skin, and of course sufficient alcohol to take the edge off on the nights his anxiety gets too overwhelming.

"I don't see why Levi is worried," Nicklas muses, while Lotte is shuffling. "Or Erwin for that matter. Even if a Titan catches you, you would just burn it to death."

Roy takes a big gulp of wine. The thought of being caught by a Titan again is nerve-wracking. He remembers very clearly how terrifying it had been to be dangling over a Titan's mouth. "I must to, to hit them in the back of the neck," he says, patting his own nape demonstratively. "If I am, what is it, upside down, I cannot do that."

The cards riffle slowly as Lotte shuffles again, slowly and deliberately. "You could just burn right through its neck, couldn't you?"

Roy takes another gulp of wine, then wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers. This conversation is making him twitchy. "I think Levi likes if I am not having to do that."

"Would like," Mike says absently, sipping at his own wine, far more slowly than Roy. "He would like it if you didn't have to do that."

Roy makes a mildly rude gesture in Mike's direction. At least, he hopes it is mildly rude. In Creta, the same gesture is so offensive that, if caught making it, he would probably be arrested. But he has seen Levi do it to Moblit several times, and Moblit has done the reverse more than once, so Roy feels safe taking the risk.

Mike laughs, so Roy is reassured he has not just committed a gross cultural faux pas. Lotte is a slow shuffler but a fast dealer. Roy counts his cards twice before looking at them, and then he announces clubs as trump, which should be a slam dunk unless he gets trash in the second four cards.

Nicklas plays the nine under Roy's jack.

"It's safer in the air," Mike says, while pondering his hand.

"I know," Roy says. "Levi tells me this all the times. Time. And so does Moblit and Zöe. And Armin and Eren. Everyone tells me this."

"You sound like you don't believe it," Lotte says. She has already picked the card she will put down, though Mike has yet to play his card.

Roy thinks about it for as long as it takes Mike to finally decide to take the trick, and for Lotte to drop her singleton queen with a sigh. "I think," Roy says, now waiting for Mike to decide what to lead, "that it is safer for all of you in the air. But my fire makes me safest and I cannot do alchemy while I am…" He moves his arm around in a crazy, exaggerated fashion, as if he were flying back and forth and up and down. "For me I think the ground is the best."

"Not if they _pletten_ you like an insect _,"_ Lotte says, following Mike's lead of diamonds.

Roy frowns, dropping a low diamond. "What is _pletten_?"

Lotte exchanges a helpless glance with Mike and Nicklas, and Roy regrets having asked. Mike is hopeless at defining words but Lotte and Nicklas are not much better. "Um," Lotte says. "It's"—she stomps down on an imaginary bug, then grinds her heel into the floor—"you know. _Pletten."_

Smush or squash or flatten, Roy supposes. Which is not a very nice image, if he is the hapless bug in the scenario.

They play for another hour, trading trumps and tricks back and forth, and Roy has two more glasses of Mike's wine and a small piece of some three-day-old cake that Nicklas filched from the kitchen. Roy tries not to eat too much after dinner; the more that's in his stomach in the morning, the more likely he is to vomit when he uses the gear. He's taken to skipping breakfast entirely on the mornings he trains, which is most mornings. The breakfasts here don't taste so good going down that they're worth the misery when they come back up.

Later, back in his room, Roy pours himself a small glass of the local gin, which is harsher than the wine but stronger, then flips open his notebook and writes down the fourteen words he'd learned during the game, plus two more he's not entirely sure of the meaning for. He will ask Levi in the morning. He studies vocabulary for a little while longer and marks down a few usage notes, though what he has concluded is that the language here is simply much easier than Amestrian: hardly any gender differentiation at all and no cases. Not as easy as Ishvalan, structurally, but with the huge advantage of having a vocabulary that is profoundly similar to Amestrian.

Finally, apprehensively, he flips the notebook over and rereads his notes on the array that brought him here. He reads his notes every night, unless he is with Levi in Levi's quarters. At this point, it's an act of masochism, he thinks. He has added nothing for weeks now. No new insight has come to him in dreams; no amount of alcohol or meditation has jogged his memory. The sad fact of the matter is that he had not seen the entire array, and what he had seen was unfamiliar. He fears that maybe this is not alchemy at all, but a different science that also uses transmutation energy, much like alkahestry, which is fundamentally similar to alchemy but different in almost every detail.

Well, he thinks determinedly, even if the science is not alchemy as he knows it, surely Truth knows it, whatever it is, and that means the knowledge must be somewhere in his brain. All he needs to do is find the right trigger to unlock it. Staring at the array every night has not so far proved productive, but it may still work. And perhaps he will find someone in this world who knows alchemy; the transmutation energy is so thick and pervasive, it's hard for Roy to believe no one has figured out how to tap it. Levi's people's history goes back only 100 years, so something strange has happened here — something stranger than Titans, maybe, and perhaps that has to do with alchemy. It is at least possible.

Perhaps someone outside the city knows the answer. After all, the array delivered him beyond the wall, and that might have been chance, but perhaps there was a reason. Perhaps Roy can figure that reason out, if he can return to the site where he arrived. But for that to happen, he needs to convince Erwin to let him go on an expedition. And _that_ is not going to happen unless he learns to use the gear, or Erwin can somehow be convinced to let Roy stay on the ground.

Where Roy might get _pletten_ ed like a bug.

Roy slams the notebook shut and downs the rest of the gin in one acrid gulp, massaging away the ache in his temples and wishing he were with Levi. But he is not with Levi, so gin will have to do. He pours himself another glass and opens the notebook back to the vocabulary section. There is still a little time to study before he is ready to go to bed. He has ODM practice first thing in the morning. At least Levi will be there.

* * *

Levi watches, jaw set, as Roy folds over on the ground, retching miserably.

"Every day, still?" Erwin says with a frown.

Levi nods, one short jerk of his head. His fingers itch with the need to go to Roy, but Erwin already thinks Levi is too emotionally involved; he doesn't need to see Levi patting Roy's back like a nanny with a fretful baby.

"It's not healthy," Hange says, clucking. "He's lost a lot of weight already."

"A few pounds," Levi says. "Not a lot."

"More than he had to spare," Hange retorts.

Levi hums, an indeterminate noise that could be agreement or disagreement. Despite all their efforts, Roy and the ODM gear still do not get along with each other. The sensible thing to do would be to call this a failed experiment and give up. But Erwin's ultimatum is buzzing in Levi's mind like a particularly obnoxious insect: either Roy learns to use the gear or he doesn't come on missions, and if he can't come on missions, his days in the Corps will be probably numbered in the single digits.

There's no guarantee he's staying with the Corps, regardless. Command has been interested in his alchemy from the moment they heard about it; by this point, with daily reports on Roy's strength and speed and accuracy, they're practically salivating. Levi has even heard a rumor that a fistfight broke out one day in Command headquarters, two particularly greedy officers coming to blows over who was going to get Roy on his team. Levi can believe it; almost everyone he's ever met from Command has been an asshole. But that just makes Levi even more anxious.

Erwin watches Roy for another moment, then turns his back, looking vaguely disgusted and vaguely queasy. Levi thinks it's sad that he himself has grown so used to the sight of Roy vomiting that it hardly even registers anymore. "It's been over a month," Erwin says. "I know how hard he's been working, but it's possible this just isn't feasible for him."

"He's not going to quit," Levi says flatly. "He might've before he'd invested so much time, but not now."

"Invested time in you?" Erwin asks, with a raised eyebrow. "Or in the Corps?"

"They're the same to Roy," Hange says with a smirk, while Levi is grinding his teeth. "And you're the one who told him he couldn't stay here without learning to use the gear, Erwin, so it's mostly your fault. But now he's just being stubborn about it."

"I don't think he's used to failing at things," Levi says.

"It's not failing if he's physically unable to do it," Erwin says. "Believe me, I would love to be able to take him out with us. Having those flame powers on our side against the Titans would be a huge advantage. But I can't have him outside the wall like this. It's just asking for him to get eaten. You know that."

Levi knows that. Levi has had several very vivid nightmares about it. Levi thinks Roy knows it too, but they don't talk about it.

"I can give you an extra two weeks," Erwin continues. "Until the next expedition. But that's the best I can do. If he's not good enough to come with us, Command's going to want to station him somewhere else and I'm not going to be able to stop them." He looks kind of pissed off, and he doesn't say goodbye before he stomps off. Levi is somewhat comforted to know that Erwin truly wants Roy to stay, even if it's only for his alchemy.

Two extra weeks is more than Levi had hoped for. He'd been planning on asking for one. He's not sure what is going to change in that time, but at least they have a little breathing room now.

Levi jogs over to where Roy is still hunched over on the ground, no longer retching, but not trying to stand yet, which is unusual. He's usually on his feet as soon as the cramps subside. Maybe that's only when the kids are around and he thinks he needs to impress them.

"You all right?"

"Yes," Roy says to the ground, voice muffled. He looks up, and his face is pale. "Just a little dizzy. That last turn was very"—He blanches and folds down again—"fast." His voice is faint.

The turn in question hadn't been particularly fast, but it had been sharp and tight, and Roy still doesn't do well with sudden changes in direction. Levi takes a deep breath for calm, then regrets it instantly as the sour stench of vomit fills his nostrils. "I think that's enough for now. You've been out here for hours." And thrown up three times already; Levi isn't sure what's even left in Roy's stomach besides acid, which is horrible for his throat. Days like this, Roy ends up so hoarse he sounds like a Titan had chewed on his neck.

"All right," Roy murmurs. He sits up slowly, holding himself still until some color returns to his cheeks in hectic blotches of red, then rises to his feet, hanging on Levi's arm. He still looks shaky.

"You good?" Levi asks.

"I'm fine," Roy says, but then promptly proves that to be a lie by tumbling back to the ground the moment Levi takes a step away.

"—the fuck," Levi says. "What's wrong?"

Roy is already pushing himself slowly to his knees. "I don't know," he says. He sounds confused and his words are slightly blurry. "I lost my balance?"

"Obviously," Levi says. He is _not_ panicking. Humanity's Strongest Soldier doesn't panic. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes."

Roy doesn't sound very convincing. Actually, he sounds about as far from convincing as possible. Levi holds onto his arm just in case, which proves to be a good idea, since it becomes quickly obvious that Roy is _not_ all right. Even with Levi steadying him, he's having trouble staying upright, and Levi catches him shaking his head a couple of times as if to clear it. His eyes, when Levi gets a good look at them, are glassy and unfocused.

"Okay," Levi says, more than a little worried now, but still not panicking because he doesn't fucking panic, "I think maybe we should go to the infirmary."

" _Nein_ ," Roy murmurs, then shakes his head again, firmly. "No. I'm fine. I will be fine. I just want a minute."

"Need," Levi says. "You need a minute." Roy looks like he needs a hell of a lot more than a minute. He's pale, skin the color of bark on an ash tree, gray and unhealthy except where his cheeks are flushed with fever — which — fuck, he's burning up, Levi thinks, putting his hand on Roy's forehead for an instant. Roy's burning up, but he'd been fine in the morning, so whatever this is, it's come on hard and fast.

"You're sick," Levi says.

Roy looks at him like he's stupid, or at least belaboring an obvious point. "I am always sick from the gear," he says truculently.

"No, you're _sick_ ," Levi says. "Come on. We're going to the infirmary."

For a minute, Roy looks like he's going to protest, but then he sags against Levi, heavy and boneless. "I don't like to be sick," he mumbles.

Levi shifts Roy to wrap an arm more securely around him. "No one likes being sick."

"I'm not sick for a long time," Roy mumbles, leaning on Levi more and more with each step, like he's suddenly ceded the battle to stay upright. "Many years." His speech is slow and slurred, and now Levi _is_ panicking, heading rapidly from worry to terror, because Roy had been fine a little while ago, sluggish on the gear, maybe, but not sick like this, and it's never good when illness hits this quickly and completely; Levi knows people who have died like this, gone from healthy to sick to dead over the course of a day, and he can't… he can't lose Roy.

"Come on," Levi says, moving forward doggedly, even though Roy is practically dead weight against him, and his skin is so hot Levi almost wonders if his alchemy is burning him from the inside out.

Hange and Moblit jog up, wearing matching frowns. "What's wrong?"

"He's sick," Levi says, "Really sick; he's got a fever. I don't know what happened; he was fine this morning."

Roy staggers to a stop and wrenches himself out of Levi's arms. He pulls himself upright, though only just, and stands still for a moment, swaying. "Maes," he says blurrily. " _Ich fühle mich nicht sehr gut_."

Then he drops to the ground like a stone, and none of them can wake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe thanks so many times over to SapphireMusings for her help over the years. In addition to all of her tireless betaing on this monster, just the other day she came up with a crucial bit of insight as to why Levi doesn't like apple peels. But most importantly! Most critically! She figured out what I couldn't, which is how to insert an image into a story! And so here we have Roy in his Survey Corps uniform! (I can't draw at all but I can use Microsoft Paint well enough to manipulate images.)
> 
> Comments = love!
> 
> P.S. Happy Chanukah to all celebrating! 100 years ago I wrote a Voyager story about Tom Paris making latkes. I wonder if I can dig it up. :)


	7. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy stares into the mirror, shoulders slumped and mournful. "I look ridiculous."
> 
> "You do not look ridiculous."
> 
> "I look _ridiculous_ ," Roy repeats, more vehemently this time. 
> 
> "You really don't," Levi says, not even lying.

Levi has always found nail-biting to be a particularly disgusting habit, unsightly and unsanitary. But pacing around the waiting room in the infirmary, he almost wishes his hands weren't so well manicured, if only because nibbling at his nails would give him something to do with his hands while he waits endlessly for the doctor to come talk to him.

"He said he'd be out soon," Moblit says, for easily the dozenth time.

"That was an hour ago."

"That was ten minutes ago. For fuck's sake, sit down. You're making me tired just watching you pace."

Levi throws himself into a chair and drops his head into his hands, rubbing at his aching temples. The infirmary smells like astringent and death.

"Captain."

Levi jerks his head up. Doctor Jansen has appeared out of thin air, with a stethoscope, clip board, and extremely severe expression on his square, bespectacled face.

Levi's stomach flips nervously and he stands up. It doesn't help much. Jansen is a giant, taller than Erwin and almost half again as wide. He looks like a sort of miniature Titan, and his disposition isn't much better.

"How's Roy?" Levi asks. "Can I see him?"

"He's asleep," Jansen says grouchily. "And I expect him to remain that way for some time. You will have plenty of time to moon over him, Captain Levi, but first we need to have a little talk."

Levi has no interest in talking to Jansen more than he has to. On the list of people Levi dislikes, Jansen doesn't rank quite as high as Erwin, but he's well up there. Easily in the top ten. From the pinched lines around Jansen's mouth, Levi suspects the feeling is mutual. "Is he all right?"

Jansen's expression is sour. "He's severely dehydrated, and his throat is so shredded it looks like he's been drinking acid on a regular basis. He's also lost a considerable amount of weight since his initial physical."

"He's been training really hard."

"People don't lose eight kilos in a month 'training really hard,' " Jansen says flatly. He consults his clipboard with a frown. "According to Commander Hange, he's been vomiting daily for weeks." He glares down his nose at Levi. "Why is this the first time I'm seeing him for this condition?"

Levi twitches reflexively. There is something about Jansen that reminds him of Kenny. Levi's never been able to put his finger on it exactly, but whenever he has to deal with the man, he's torn between the instincts to stick a knife in his gut and to run away and hide. "We brought him in twice for the nausea. He didn't like the medicine the nurses gave him. And it's nothing serious. He's just throwing up because of the ODM gear."

"Ah," Jansen says with distaste. "The omnidirectional mobility gear." Jansen has a particular dislike for the gear that Levi has never understood but isn't particularly motivated to investigate because he doesn't really give a fuck why Jansen doesn't like it. "So, in your professional medical opinion, Captain, Roy's persistent and incapacitating nausea is attributable solely to his use of the"—he sniffs—"ODM gear?"

Levi glances at Moblit for help, but Moblit is looking determinedly at his fingers, the dick. "Yes …?"

"I see. And here I thought your specialty was killing Titans. I didn't realize you'd had medical training too."

"I don't have—" Levi crosses his arms and draws himself up to his full height, which doesn't help at all against Jansen's looming bulk. "Roy said it was from the gear and there was nothing to worry about."

"Hmm." Jansen makes a showy note on the top piece of paper on his clipboard. "I see. So, _he_ is the one with medical training." He raises a very skeptical eyebrow. "In between all his studies of alchemy? I was led to believe it is a difficult discipline. I'm surprised he had the time."

Levi feels unaccountably defensive on Roy's behalf. "He doesn't … of course he doesn't, but he only ever gets sick when he's training, so it's got to be the gear."

"I will allow such a supposition from him," Jansen says tartly, "seeing as he is from another world, and perhaps they are all idiots there. But am I surprised at you, Captain. I thought you had at least a modicum of sense somewhere in your brain. Maybe you've had one too many bad landings with your"—another displeased sniff—"ODM gear."

Levi would be more offended if he didn't know for a fact that Jansen speaks to everyone in the same way, even Erwin. "You're saying it's not the gear?"

Jansen gazes at him as if he were a particularly ugly slug. "Tell me this, Captain. You've been in the Corps for many years now. How many people would you say you have trained on the gear?"

Levi has no fucking idea. He hasn't personally trained recruits in years. When he did, he didn't bother getting to know them, since most of them died on their first mission beyond the walls.

"Roughly," Jansen says, with a touch of impatience. "Dozens? Hundreds?"

"Hundreds."

"Hmm." Jansen flips through the pages on the clipboard, as if he's looking for something, even though it's obvious he isn't, that this is all just for show, to make a point. "And how many of those recruits suffered such severe nausea? After, say, the first week?"

Everybody throws up at least once during the first week, but that always stops. "Well," Levi says, "none, but he's older—"

"He's 31," Jansen says. "Not 80."

Levi sets his jaw stubbornly. "The older you are, the harder it is to learn to use the gear. Everyone knows that."

"The older you are, the harder it is to learn anything," Jansen says. "Including languages, incidentally, though I have heard he's doing quite well with that. But regardless, I am led to believe Roy's difficulty is not using the gear, it is keeping the contents of his stomach intact while doing so."

Levi opens his mouth, then shuts it again. "What?"

"From what Commander Hange has told me," Jansen says, "Roy's problems with the gear stem from the nausea, not the other way around."

Levi isn't entirely sure he sees the distinction. What does it matter if Roy is nauseated because he is bad using the gear, or if he's bad using the gear because he's nauseated? Either way he ends up on his knees.

"His medical history indicates," Jansen continues implacably, "that Roy temporarily lost his eyesight several years ago."

"He got it back," Levi says. "Obviously."

"Mmm. And how did that come about?"

Levi, feeling beleaguered, glances at Moblit for support, but Moblit just gaze placidly back, one eyebrow slightly raised – Levi is pretty sure he'd picked up that habit from Roy, which doesn't make it any more appealing. Moblit doesn't look nearly as attractive doing it, for one thing.

Jansen is waiting expectantly, pen poised over his clipboard.

"Well," Levi says. "Um. Sometimes the language barrier makes it tough to understand exactly what he means, but, uh, I think there was some supernatural creature involved. Like a, a god or something."

Jansen's expression flickers, and he shifts. "A god." His expression is a strange cross between skepticism and awe.

"Demigod," Moblit chimes in. Levi stares at him, and Moblit shrugs. "What? You're not the only one he talks to, you know. He talks to everyone. He's always trying to improve his speech."

"A very powerful creature," Levi says, turning back to Jansen. "Roy hasn't explained to me how it happened."

Jansen scribbles at his clipboard, the corner of one eyebrow ticking. "And did this same … creature … heal the injury?"

"No," Moblit answers, before Levi could. "There was a doctor who did it with a magic rock."

Levi swivels. "You know he'd kick your ass if he heard you say 'magic rock.' "

Moblit shrugs. "Alchemy, magic, whatever. It's fucking weird."

Levi does not exactly disagree. "Anyway, that's all I know. Does it make a difference what happened to his eyes?"

"It might," Jansen says, with a noncommittal hum, busily writing. Finally, the patronizing tone is absent from his voice, and he sounds merely intrigued.

"But it doesn't explain the fever," Levi says.

Jansen peers up from his clipboard, scowling. "That's roodvonk," he says dismissively.

Moblit looks skeptical. "Roodvonk is a kids' disease."

Jansen does not appear impressed with Moblit's declaration, though he refrains from commenting on Moblit's lack of a medical degree. Jansen seems to tolerate Moblit slightly more than he tolerates Levi. "Adults can catch it if they haven't been exposed to it before. Especially if they are exhausted and dehydrated and malnourished. Frankly, I'm surprised he's not sicker, given the state he was in and the stress he's been under. But we gave him an ice bath to cool him down and some willow bark and he's responding well. I expect he'll recover fully in a few days." He jabs at his clipboard hard with his pen, signs something with a flourish, then peers down over his glasses at Levi. "Now you, Captain. I don't care what anybody says, not Commander Hange, not Commander Erwin, not Roy himself. If we cannot figure out the underlying cause of his nausea, I will pull his clearance to use the gear at all. Do you understand?"

"Um," Levi says. "Yes. But I don't know why you think I can stop any of those people from doing exactly what they want. Two of them outrank me. And Roy's … Roy's stubborn."

"Then you will have to be more stubborn than he is. Captain," Jansen says, not unkindly, "if he keeps going like this, he'll just end up back here, maybe sicker. He may be able to do amazing things, but so far as I can tell, he is only human."

* * *

People are people, Roy once told Levi, and he knows this to be true. People in this world aren't so different from people in Amestris. Not different at all, in the aggregate, except for those habits and customs attributable to growing up in the shadow of the Titans. But mostly they want the same things as anyone anywhere else — food, shelter, safety, friends, a family — and they have the same sorts of strengths and weaknesses and brilliance and quirks.

But this isn't Amestris, and even if the people are fundamentally the same, some things about them are very strange, and some days Roy feels the most out of place that he's ever felt in his life. Aunt Chris would be disappointed, he thinks. She'd say she taught him better than this.

It is two days after Roy was released from the infirmary. Roy is back at the training grounds, flat on his back and panting. Hange looms overhead, frowning. "You're doing horribly today. Were you up fucking Levi all night?"

From off to the side, where Dr. Jansen is standing sensibly in the shade, there is a snort.

That's one difference right there, Roy thinks. Nobody would ever just _ask_ him that at home. Hange is more tactless than most, true, but these people seem to have no concept of privacy. Nothing is inappropriate conversation. Moblit once asked him how big Levi's dick was, like that was a perfectly normal question, and he'd been very put out when Roy didn't tell him.

Roy doesn't bother answering Hange, just groans and gasps like he hasn't yet caught his breath, which is not much of an exaggeration.

Hange retreats out of Roy's line of sight, muttering and scratching in a notebook, probably to compare notes with Jansen, who has been frowning at Roy all morning. If Jansen had his way, Roy would still be in bed, recuperating, but Roy's ODM assessment is in a week and a half.

While Hange and Jansen are conferring, Roy takes the opportunity to lie on the ground for a little while longer. The sky is a really pretty shade of blue, and the clouds are big and white and fluffy. Roy remembers cloud-watching with Riza on the hill behind the Hawkeyes' house. It'd been peaceful.

This is peaceful for approximately 30 seconds. "Come on," Hange says, back in Roy's face and impatient, "get up."

"I start to think you're trying to kill me for true." Roy rolls to his knees and pushes up to his feet, swallowing a groan. He is more bruised than anyone ought ever to be. He's sure he'd cracked a rib or two on that last fall, he's all scratched up, and he's afraid he might have broken his tailbone. At least he is not throwing up; the anti-nausea medicine Jansen prescribed is both more effective and less soporific than what he'd been given before, though it has the peculiar side effect of making his skin dry and itchy. He scratches absently at his neck.

"It's like you have no sense of balance at _all,_ " Hange says. "Honestly, I don't know how you don't crash into trees all the time."

Jansen wanders over and peers over Hange's shoulder at the notebook, then glances down at his clipboard and hums interestedly.

"If you're want to motivate me," Roy says to Hange, "you're not doing very well."

Hange snorts. "I'm not trying to motivate you." As if, Roy thinks wistfully. He would not mind it if Hange would try, just a little bit, just for a change of pace. "I'm just telling you the truth. It's very _raar,_ though."

Roy searches for a cognate but doesn't find one. "What is _raar_?"

Hange clucks in exasperation. "Um. _Vreemd? Zonderling?_ Not _normaal."_

 _Fremd,_ Roy supposes. He's not sure he wants to know why Hange thinks so, but he asks anyway. "Why is it strange?"

Hange flips through the notebook, looking at dates and scribbled notes. "You don't have any trouble at first. You only lose your balance after a few minutes in the air. So what happens?"

What happens, Roy thinks, is that at some point after the initial terror of the launch has faded, his lizard brain realizes he is hurtling through the air at a ridiculous speed, propelled by jet packs of a dubious mechanism, tethered to a fixed safe point by only a thin set of wires, controlling his direction and velocity with a complicated system of hand grips he doesn't fully understand, one wrong move away from ending up a greasy blob smeared against the nearest hard surface. He does not say this out loud. Hange would laugh at him, and that is worse than being laughed at by almost anyone else, except maybe Edward.

Hange squints at him. "I know what you're thinking." Roy thinks this might actually be true. Hange gives every appearance of being a little bit psychic. Or possibly psychotic. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. "And I don't think it's all in your head. Something else is going on."

Jansen flips the pages of his notepad, shows something to Hange, then turns to Roy. "What is your balance like when you drink?"

"Um," Roy says, feeling suddenly defensive. He doesn't like to talk with doctors about his drinking, particularly doctors like Jansen, who probably buys into that "your body is a temple" sort of bullshit. "Fine?"

"You don't _struikelen_ around, hit your head or anything?"

Roy doesn't know what _struikelen_ means, but he imagines it's lurch or teeter or stumble or something that people do when they're drunk. Something that _other_ people do when they're drunk. Roy is perfectly steady on his feet when he drinks, thank you very much. He'd only hit his head when drinking _once,_ and he'd been 23 and Maes had thrown his keys into the sewer _on purpose_ and … well. That is a night best left unremembered, really, because the eventual concussion had been the best part. "No."

"How about when you first wake up in the morning? How's your balance then?"

"Fine, _es sie denn_ I sit up too fast. But that's normal, isn't it?"

"Yes." Jansen makes another note, peering at the notepad, his expression dispassionate and clinical. "If you're sick? Do you get dizzy when you have fever?"

Until he got here, Roy hadn't had a fever in 20 years, not that he can recall, at any rate, and when he'd been sick last week it had come on when he'd been in the gear, so he'd already been dizzy anyway. "I don't think so."

"And if you use too much alchemy?"

Cautiously, Roy sits up. His stomach stays settled and the dancing spots have faded from his eyes, so that's good. "At home," he says, "it made me tired. To do alchemy is … I don't know the word in your language. _Angstregend_. Like my own energy goes away too, like water down the sink?"

"Draining," Hange says, sitting down next to him.

Jansen remains standing, looming over them like a Titan with a bad attitude. From this vantage, Roy can see the spot under Jansen's chin where he'd cut himself shaving. It is comfortingly humanizing. "That doesn't happen here?"

"No," Roy says. "The energy is different here. When I transmute, it … it's different." He's tried to explain this to Levi over and over, failing every time. It doesn't help that Levi has no conception of how alchemy actually works. "The energy here is … it's like it wants to be used." There's almost too much of it, he thinks sometimes. He has to modulate it, or else risk an explosion big enough to take out the whole base.

Jansen hums thoughtfully. "Maybe there _is_ too much energy here."

Hange turns to stare at Roy. Roy does his best not to physically recoil from the intense gaze and proximity. That is something else Roy is still adjusting to, how little regard these people have for personal space. Well, some of these people; not Levi; Levi keeps several feet between himself and everyone else at all times.

"Maybe at home, there isn't quite enough transmutation energy," Jansen says. "Maybe you have to use some of your body's own energy, and that makes you tired."

Roy has no idea. He's well-grounded in alchemical theory, but exactly how transmutation energy interacts with human beings is still only poorly understood by even the best scientists. No one really knows exactly why it's so tiring to do too many transmutations, why it's not like a muscle you can build up with practice. Even the best alchemists risk exhaustion if they don't take sufficient breaks. Roy had pushed up right against the limit some days in Ishval, even past it once or twice, and had ended up in the infirmary for his carelessness, dizzy and weak and with a bad case of the shakes. Worth it at the time, but still unpleasant.

"It's possible," he concedes. "But there is no problem like that here. I am not tired until I do many, many transmutations. Why would having too much energy make me lose my balance?"

Jansen hums again in lieu of answering, but Hange jumps up and starting to pace. "It might have nothing to do with it. Maybe it's physical. Something to do with your body. Balance is mostly in the head. Maybe it has something to do with when you lost your _gezichtsvermogen."_

Roy has no idea what that means. "My what?"

"Your _zicht_."

That's more or less comprehensible. Sometimes, he thinks, learning a new language is like a minefield, littered with bombs. The only consolation is that when he stumbles over one, it doesn't actually explode in his face.

Roy hadn't thought his current problems could stem from his temporary blindness, but then again, he hadn't thought he could accidentally transmute himself into another world. And there _had_ been something wrong with his eyes when he was blind, apparently; Ed said that Roy's eyes had been a revolting milky color — Roy presumes it was the similarity to milk that Ed found so revolting, not the actual hue. Marcoh had never figured out exactly what Truth had done to take Roy's sight, but said it hadn't mattered, that he could use the Philosopher's Stone to restore Roy's sight even without understanding the underlying damage. Roy had been suspicious but desperate, and the results had seemed to bear Marcoh out. Except maybe they hadn't. Maybe there had been some other damage that Marcoh hadn't fixed, maybe something that doesn't impair Roy's ability to see but makes it difficult for him to successfully use the ODM gear.

And if that's the case, if he's got some physical damage left over from the Promised Day, then Roy's screwed, because that's not something that's going to go away, no matter how much he practices.

Jansen is muttering something to Hange, too quietly and quickly for Roy to follow. He points to something on his notepad, jabbing the pen at the paper. Hange nods in agreement at whatever it is.

"Last week," Jansen says, momentarily, "you told me that you when you lost your sight, you fell a great distance, and after you hit the ground, you couldn't see. Did you have a _hersenschudding_?"

Roy doesn't quite sigh. Someday, he is going to develop an array that translates language. Never mind that there is no branch of alchemy in which such a thing is even the slightest bit feasible, he's going to do it. "A what?"

"A head injury," Jansen answers. He is still looming disconcertingly. With Hange also up off the ground,

Roy is almost tempted to stand up, but he knows that the second he does that, Hange is going to send him off in the gear again, so he stays seated. He figures he might as well take what time he can get.

"If you get hit hard"—Hange mimes getting hit in the base of the skull—"and your _hersenen_ gets knocked into your skull."

"Ah. No, not a concussion. It was …" It was an injury given to him in some inexplicable manner by a semi-mystical, possibly divine being on an alternate plane of existence as a penalty for committing alchemy's most unforgivable taboo, a crime he'd been forced into by a set of inhuman homunculi, one of whom had kept him bound with tendrils of energy created from its own essence, another of whom had stabbed him through the hands with a very mundane set of swords. Roy contemplates telling any of this to Hange and Jansen and dismisses the thought immediately. "…not a concussion," he finishes lamely.

"But you got your sight back," Hange says, peering down and staring into his eyes in a disturbingly intent manner.

Roy leans back, twitching. "Yes. I told you this already, I think. A doctor was able to … hmm … to fix me. What's the word, to make an injury better?"

" _Genezen_ ," Hange says. "How long were you blind?"

"About ten days." Ten days, but it had felt much longer, and Roy still can't sleep without some sort of light on because if he wakes up and can't see, he spirals right into a panic attack and there is no amount of rationalizing that can prevent it. In this, it's actually helpful that Levi doesn't sleep much, because on those nights Roy stays over, Levi usually gets up in the middle of the night to clean something that doesn't need it, so there's almost always some sort of light on somewhere. Roy's also taken to leaving the curtains open a crack, which on most nights lets in just enough light to make the difference. Levi noticed it, of course — Levi notices everything, always — but has never said anything. Roy's grateful, because it's stupid and illogical and a crutch and makes Roy feel weak, so he'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to anyone.

Hange makes a curious little noise and leans in even closer, right in Roy's face. "Did you know the blindness was only _tijdelijk_? Um, that it wouldn't last long?"

"No," Roy says. His stomach clenches involuntarily. No, he had not known the blindness was only temporary. He'd assumed he'd lost his sight forever and he had not handled it well, no matter how brave a face he'd put on for his subordinates at the time. "The doctor used alchemy to heal me. A special kind." He doesn't want to get into this at all. He can't imagine trying to explain what a philosopher's stone is, and if he thinks about it too hard, the hundreds of lives sacrificed just so he could walk around without banging into walls, he'll only make himself crazy. Crazier. "It's too hard to explain."

Jansen seems to assume Roy's hesitating because of the language barrier, and subsides. "Your problem with the gear could still be because of the injury to your eyes, even if your sight has been returned. What do you feel, right before you get dizzy?"

Terrified, usually. Roy thinks he'll keep that to himself. Hange already thinks he's a wimp. "I don't know," he says. "Usually, I try not to think about it. If I'm too much thinking to how I'm feeling, I feel worse."

Hange frowns at him for long enough to register severe disapproval, then turns back to Jansen. "Most of the time, it's when he turns. But not every turn."

"Not every turn," Roy agrees. Only the ones that are so tight he's afraid he's leaving his stomach behind. "Only the very fast ones. The … the _scharfen_ ones. When I go.." He moves his hand in a fast, sudden curve.

" _Scherpe_ ," Jansen corrects absently, tapping his pen absently against his lips. Levi would be mildly disgusted. "Does turning quickly ever cause you problems when you're not using the gear?"

Roy wants to say no, but recalls that sometimes if he swivels too quickly when he's walking, his vision blurs, just a bit. He doesn't remember that ever happening before he'd gone through the Gate, but it's hardly been an inconvenience, hardly anything worth noticing; he's just gotten accustomed to turning a little more slowly. It's not like he has a lot of call for pivoting on his heels anyway.

"I can see by your face," Jansen says, "that it does."

"Maybe," Roy says slowly. "Sometimes. If I"—he twists his head from left to right and back again—"do this too fast, for a minute, I can't see everything."

"You go blind again?"

"No, I just … things aren't"—he doesn't know the word—" _klar_. The … the _rändern,_ the ends of things?"

"Edges," Hange says with a nod. "Same word."

"The edges. I can't see them well. They're …" Roy wiggles his hand up and down in a wavy manner. "Not _klar_ ," he repeats, frustrated. " _Verschwommen_. Um, _unscharf_? _Schattenhaft_?" He can't think of any other words for fuzzy or blurry, and for a minute, he wishes Levi were here, because Levi always seems to know what Roy is trying to say, even if the words don't translate.

"Hmm," Jansen says, and looks at Roy speculatively. Hange is looking at Roy with the exact same expression. Like Roy's a puzzle they've just solved.

"On your feet," Hange says, while Jansen starts sketching something on his clipboard, pen flying in swift, broad strokes. Hange takes a quick look and nods, then says, "I think so too."

Roy wonders what it is they're both thinking. From the slight glint in Hange's eyes, he's afraid he's not going to like it.

* * *

"Don't laugh," Roy says gloomily.

"I never laugh," Levi says, though he's caught himself at it once or twice recently, with Roy. But this is obviously not the time for Levi to make one of his few exceptions to the no-laughing rule: Roy looks as miserable as Levi has ever seen him, short of ODM practice, when he usually appears to be actively hoping for death.

Roy stares into the mirror, shoulders slumped and mournful. "I look ridiculous."

"You do not look ridiculous."

"I look _ridiculous_ ," Roy repeats, more vehemently this time. 

"You really don't," Levi says, not even lying. "It's just a pair of glasses."

"These are not glasses." Roy sounds disgusted. He pulls them off his head and stares at them as if their entire existence is offensive. " _Look_ at them."

Levi looks. They look almost exactly like Hange's gear glasses, except the frame and strap are black, all the better to blend into Roy's hair. Levi does not quite understand why Roy is so upset. "Um," he says. "I think they-"

"Don't tell me they make me look handsome," Roy says mulishly.

Levi shuts his mouth with a snap, and thinks carefully about what to say next. Roy seems entirely too upset over something so trivial, so maybe there is more going on, but he doubts his ability to figure it out without upsetting Roy even further. He supposes he should at least try, as doomed as his efforts may be. That is, he thinks, what you are supposed to do when someone you care about is upset. He casts about for something innocuous to offer. "Did the doctor say you have to wear them all the time?"

Roy shudders, a full-body shake. "No."

"So — that's good, right?"

Roy glares at him, and flings the glasses across the room. Levi is at a loss. Where the fuck is Moblit? Always underfoot except when you need him, Moblit is good with all this shit. It's unexpected, since he is an ass in every other way. But he has a way of navigating emotional minefields that Levi does not possess in the slightest degree.

"Um," Levi said. He considers offering Roy a drink, then rejects that thought almost immediately. Alcohol is usually a surefire way to get Roy's mood to improve, but every once in a while, drinking turns a dark mood darker, and Levi has a sneaking suspicion this might be one of those days. Also, Roy drinks more than enough on his own; Levi doesn't need to enable him in the habit just because it might make this particular moment easier for Levi. "I don't know what it means to wear glasses in Amestris," he says finally, "but it doesn't mean anything here."

Roy had flung himself down onto Levi's battered sofa in a snit, and now he scowls up at Levi from under his bangs. "It doesn't mean anything in Amestris. Just that your eyes are bad."

"And your eyes aren't even bad. It's only for when you're using the gear."

" _Leck mich am arsch_ ," Roy mutters. He picks restlessly at a fraying thread on the arm of the couch.

"I love your ass," Levi says, "and I'd be happy to kiss it, if that would make you feel better. Could you stop tearing up my couch?"

Roy's fingers go still, though there is something grudging about it.

Levi approaches cautiously and sits down next to Roy on the couch, close enough to touch if circumstances call for it. Roy shoots him a slightly hostile look, then starts picking at the loose thread again. He is tense and twitchy. Levi drops his hand gently on top of Roy's, just for a second, and says "Stop."

"Sorry," Roy mutters. He sinks deeper into the couch and throws his head back, rubbing irritably at his eyes. "I hate your gear."

'Hate' is not a strong enough word, but Levi supposes Roy hasn't yet learned 'detest' or 'loathe' or 'abhor.' "I know. But maybe if you could use it better—"

Roy scoffs. "I'll always hate it. People should be on the ground, not in the air."

"You only feel that way because it makes you sick."

The look Roy throws at him is so hot, Levi is surprised he doesn't ignite on the spot. "You wouldn't like it too, if it made you vomit every day."

"Either," Levi says reflexively. "I wouldn't like it either. Not too." Roy scowls at him, and Levi holds up his hands in apology. "And no, I wouldn't. But the glasses might help with that."

Roy sighs and drapes his arm over his eyes. "I don't want to wear them." He sounds mournful.

"I can see that."

Roy mopes quietly for a few minutes, and Levi doesn't push, just stays quietly on the couch. "In the Academy," Roy says eventually, worrying at the loose thread with the tip of one finger, "Maes wore glasses. He was so perfect in all the other ways, so we would … _necken_? To, to say things that are a little not nice?"

"Tease."

"Tease. We would tease him about the glasses. But one of the older students, one day he took the glasses and … _zerbrach_ them. You know that word?"

It's close enough. "He broke them?"

Roy nods. "It was an _unfall_. He didn't want to break them, you understand?"

"An accident."

"An accident, but Maes couldn't see without the glasses. He wouldn't walk into a wall, but he couldn't see all the ways across a room, so I went with him to the … the doctor for eyes. The doctor gave him new glasses but not _sofort_ … we sat for an hour, I think, when the doctor put in the … the _linsen_. The glass."

Levi nods silently. Maes is a topic Levi never dares to broach, the name Roy cries out most often in his sleep, the loss that seems to hit Roy the hardest. Levi guesses Roy and Maes had been lovers, but he's never worked up the courage to ask because he isn't sure how he'll react if the answer turns out to be yes, if Maes is waiting somewhere for Roy to return.

"When we waited, we took all the glasses in the room and wore them, you understand? One and the other and the other. Maes said I looked … _vornehm_? You know it?"

 _Voornaam_ is almost the same word. "Distinguished."

"Yes. And he said he wanted to see me when I was old and needed glasses for … for true. And he wanted me to … to _versprechen_. _Geloben_? To say I would do it."

"Promise."

"Promise. He wanted me to promise that I would show him the glasses."

"Oh," Levi says slowly. And of course Roy had promised, because Roy would have agreed to anything Maes asked, like Roy agrees to anything Levi asks, even when that thing is spending hours a day training on the ODM gear that makes him violently ill. So Maes had asked to see Roy when he got old and needed glasses, and now here is Roy, older and needing glasses, but he can't fulfill his promise and show them to Maes, because he is here and Maes is not.

"I think he wanted to tease me too," Roy says quietly. He looks exhausted, like all his energy has drained out of him along with his indignation. "He knew I was … _eitel_? I cared too much about my … how other people saw me."

"Vain," Levi says. "Same word." He taps Roy on the hand, just to get him to look up. "You're still a little vain."

Roy laughs tiredly. "More than a little, I think. But my whole life, from when I am a boy, everyone tells me how handsome I am. My aunt told me it's a gift and I should use it." He lifts a shoulder, lets it drop. "But then I have always to think about it, yes?"

Levi supposes so, though it isn't a problem he's ever had to deal with. He knows he is not unattractive, face nicely symmetrical, no visible disfiguring scars, but he is also too goddamn short. Mostly he's okay with it. When he was Underground it was better to be ignored, and now that everyone knows him as Humanity's Strongest Soldier he has more attention than he wants or knows what to do with, and it would only be worse if he were better looking.

Roy sighs. "I thought maybe when I come here — came here — that it would be different but it's the same."

Levi coughs, just a little. He can't imagine a world where Roy wouldn't be considered handsome. "Well," he says, "you're also the only one in this world who can do alchemy. I think people would look at you anyway, even if you weren't so fucking gorgeous."

Roy cranes his head up off the couch and squints at him, expression vaguely accusatory. "What is _mooi_?"

"Handsome," Levi says. "Attractive. But _very_ handsome. Very attractive."

Roy's head thunks back to the couch and he makes an indistinct noise of disgust, eyes closed.

"You're not actually worried that the glasses make you ugly, are you? Umm, not handsome?"

"No," Roy says, without opening his eyes. "I don't care about that."

Levi hadn't really thought that was the reason. The real reason is obviously Maes, Maes and this promise he'd wrested from Roy, that Roy is a universe too far away to keep.

"Maes would understand, you know. And he wouldn't want you to be unhappy."

Roy makes a choked, stricken noise. "No. He wouldn't."

Levi inches a little bit closer to Roy on the couch so that they are practically touching, but not quite, an invitation that Roy can accept or not. After a moment, with a small sigh, Roy closes the gap between them. He laces his fingers through Levi's and then whispers, like it's a confession, "I miss him, Levi."

"I know." Levi remembers missing Farlan, how getting through even a single day without him had at first seemed like an insurmountable challenge, but he doesn't think Roy would want to hear any trite platitudes that the pain will ease over time. For one thing, it might not. Levi has grown accustomed to missing Farlan but it doesn't make the pain any easier to bear; it's just that he'd gotten used to it, like Erwin is growing used to his missing arm. And then too Roy might feel that the pain is all he has left of Maes, that letting it go would mean letting Maes go. Levi is familiar with that particular flavor of guilt too. So Levi just sits there with Roy's hand in his own, and squeezes. "I could tease you," he suggests lightly, "for Maes."

Roy squeezes his hand back and chuckled. If the laugh is forced and scratchy, it's still a start. "You already tease me," he says, "about how terrible I am with the gear."

"I may have to stop that soon if the glasses work."

Roy hums noncommittally. "I guess we'll see."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that scene at the end is one of my favorites in this story. Roy being all grumpy and picking at the loose threads on Levi's couch just amuses me to no end.
> 
> Thanks as always to SapphireMusings for betaing, even though this time I didn't end up picking one of her titles. I really wanted to call this one Corrective Lenses but that would have been too big of a spoiler.
> 
> And lastly, it's another round of "Maisie plays with pixel editors!" This was a quick one (obviously). Just wanted to get Roy's much-loathed glasses in there. And that blue shirt that Levi loves. I have another manip planned for the next chapter -- I spent way too long on that one. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Comments = love!!


	8. Roy vs. the ODM gear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy has his glasses. Roy v. ODM ... it is _on_.
> 
> Roy:  
> The thing is, Roy suspects that deep down, in the tiny little box where he hides all his deepest fears and shameful thoughts, there is a small piece of his soul that _doesn't_ want the glasses to work. Because he hates the gear more than he's hated any inanimate object in his life, and if he fails the test, he will never have to use the gear again. 
> 
> Levi:  
> Is it weird, Levi wonders, that after only two months he already knows a half dozen ways to soothe Roy? That he can sense the exact moment the Roy's spine relaxes, even before the wrinkle in Roy's brow starts to straighten? Sometimes Levi thinks he already knows Roy's tells better than his own.

It is just past nine in the morning and Roy is at the training field wearing his new and much-loathed glasses, preparing to test them out for the first time. It's a good morning for it. The sun is shining a warm yellow, hanging low in the sky at an oblique angle that creates no glare. The air is comfortably warm, not yet hot, and the day is perfectly clear, without even the smallest wisp of a cloud to mar the bright blue sky. It's May at home but here the month is called Skerpa. In both places it is late spring. Armin has told Roy that Skerpa is one of the prettiest months of the year, when the sun is not too strong and the bugs are not too bad, the trees have fully bloomed and the flowers are blossoming. Beyond the walls, Roy is told, it is a wild riot of color. Maybe he will get to see it, if he passes his test.

Or maybe he won't, if he doesn't.

"Are you ready?" Moblit is triple-checking Roy's gear, which Roy both appreciates and resents. Roy at this point is perfectly capable of checking his own gear. He could do it in his sleep. He thinks he _has_ done it in his sleep. But Moblit is a mother hen and checking Roy's gear gives him something to do with all his nervous energy.

"Yes," Roy lies. To keep his own hands busy, he straightens the hem of his shirt, which is entirely unnecessary. Once he launches, his shirt will untuck. Levi tells him it's because he's too skinny. Roy thinks it's because he needs a shirt with longer tails and a better belt.

Moblit frowns at him. "You're a shit liar," he says, and tugs the strap around Roy's left thigh at least twice as hard as necessary.

Roy is not a shit liar. Roy is a goddamn fantastic liar. Roy has lied thousands of times to hundreds of people, usually straight to their faces, and everyone always believes him; he lies so well he would believe his lies himself if he didn't know he were lying.

However, for some bizarre reason, Roy can't ever fool Moblit. It's quite irritating, actually. Not that he often needs to lie to Moblit, but it's irritating that he can't ever seem to do it.

"Ow," Roy says.

"Sorry." Moblit loosens the buckle, allowing blood flow to resume to Roy's lower leg. Moblit sits back on his haunches and regards Roy thoughtfully.

Roy stands straight and tries not to fidget. He is wearing the glasses/goggles/eyewear-from-hell and he feels ostentatiously absurd.

"What I can't figure out," Moblit says eventually, still evaluating, "is whether you're more afraid the glasses won't work, or that they will."

Roy frowns. It's reflexive, like a tic. "My assessment is in a week."

Moblit's answering "yeah" is long and slow and drawn out. He is well aware when Roy's assessment is. Roy thinks probably the entire Corps is aware of when Roy's assessment is. Though perhaps that is just Roy imagining himself at the center of the universe.

"If the glasses don't work," Roy says, "I won't pass."

Moblit rises to his feet with just the slightest grunt. He is distressingly limber in a way Roy used to be, before Ishval, before the homunculi. Moblit doesn't bother telling Roy that Roy might pass even if the glasses don't work; Roy has so far not managed to complete the full testing course a single time, and he will have to do it three times to pass the evaluation.

"So, I want them to work," Roy says, but he doesn't think he sounds as certain about it as he should and Moblit's frown means he thinks so too.

The thing is …

… the thing is, Roy suspects that deep down, in the tiny little box where he hides all his deepest fears and shameful thoughts, there is a small piece of his soul that _doesn't_ want the glasses to work. Because he hates the gear more than he's hated any inanimate object in his life, and if he fails the test, he will never have to use the gear again.

But that is only a small, immature part of himself. Roy hates the gear but he needs to conquer it if he wants to stay in the Corps, and he does want to stay in the Corps, very badly. "I want them to work," Roy says again, but he is firm about it this time, and he must sound more convincing because Moblit smiles at him and says, "They'll work. Hange designed them."

Speaking of whom. Hange bounds over, clipboard in hand, ponytail already shedding a few tendrils of hair, and starts triple checking Roy's gear. Roy tolerates this with less grace than when it was Moblit, and much less grace than when Levi did it with slow intimate precision before he and Roy ever left Levi's quarters.

Dr. Jansen lumbers over at a more sedate pace, glasses slipping down his nose. He pushes them up with one meaty finger and peers at Roy critically. "Did you eat today?"

Jansen has an uncanny ability to make Roy feel like he is being interrogated by his aunt. "Yes," Roy says sullenly. "Toast and tea, like you said me." One cup of juniper tea that Levi had ready for him by the time Roy had dragged himself out of bed at seven after a restless night, and a single thick slice of a dark wheat bread studded with grains and seeds, scraped with butter and drizzled with honey. Also there had been a small slice of Roy's favorite cheese that Levi had gotten special from the canteen and had hidden away in the icebox so Roy wouldn't find it. It had been a delicious breakfast, but Roy doesn't usually eat the mornings he's going to train, and he wouldn't have this morning either if Jansen hadn't insisted on it as part of the evaluation.

"Hmm," Jansen grunts, and scratches down a note on his pad. He holds a single finger up to Roy's nose. "Follow my finger."

Roy dutifully follows Jansen's finger to the left and right, swiveling his head from side to side as Jansen widens the arc and increases the speed. By the end, Roy feels like he's whipping his head around in spasm, and he's afraid he's going to sprain his neck. But Jansen stops before there is any injury and shoves his face right in Roy's, staring deeply into Roy's eyes. Roy is discomfited but manages not to look away.

"Hmm," Jansen says again, in an entirely unenlightening way. "Did you wear the glasses yesterday?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Three hours," Roy says. "Like you said me."

"Told you," Jansen says absently, writing on his notepad. "Or said _to_ me. But not said me."

Moblit snickers while Roy bites back a very nasty curse. Say, tell, speak, _goddamn it_. "I hate your language," Roy says to Moblit as an aside. "It's stupid."

"Your language is probably just as stupid," Moblit says easily. "I'm going to go make sure Levi hasn't bitten off all his nails."

Levi has been banished to the observation area and given strict instructions to stay out of Roy's sight, because watching Roy on the gear makes Levi nervous, and watching Levi be nervous makes Roy nervous, and Roy is nervous enough on his own

Jansen grunts a relatively amiable goodbye as Moblit lopes off. "How long have you been wearing the glasses today?"

"Since I'm awake." Meaning Roy had eaten breakfast with the glasses on, which had been extremely disconcerting, because the toast had looked strangely crisp around the edges and the honey had been glistening in a manner that Roy is certain honey does not ordinarily do. Also, Levi had been sitting across the table so obviously trying _not_ to comment on the glasses that Roy had almost wished he would just to get it over with. Roy had dutifully worn the glasses even when he was brushing his teeth after breakfast, but it turns out that brushing one's teeth with glasses on requires a little more care than brushing one's teeth without glasses — _how am I knowing that,_ he'd said to Levi, ineffectually wiping at the glasses with a rag and just smearing the toothpaste spittle around; _I never wear them before!_

 _You never_ wore _them_ , Levi had corrected, but before Roy could explode in a tension-induced apoplectic fit, Levi had taken the glasses and cleaned them with some soapy water, dried them gently with a clean cloth, and placed them carefully back on Roy's head, making sure to hide the strap under Roy's hair and then to mess Roy's bangs up just the right amount. And then he'd kissed Roy thoroughly enough that Roy forgave him for correcting Roy's grammar in the midst of Roy's existential fit of pique. Mostly.

"Turn around in _een cirkel,_ " Hange says, with a finger movement that lets Roy conclude that _cirkel_ is _kreiss,_ which doesn't bode well for the rest of geometry, if Roy ever gets a chance to study it here. Though Roy has always hated geometry, so he doesn't imagine he will ever be studying it here. Meanwhile, he dutifully turns around in a circle, speeding up when Hange makes an impatient clucking noise.

"Dizzy?" Hange asks, when Roy has spun on his heel several times in both directions.

"No," Roy says slowly. He is momentarily distrusting of his own senses, waiting for the dizziness to strike, but the dizziness remains utterly absent.

"Good," Hange says, with immense satisfaction, as Jansen clucks smugly. "Definitely the peripheral vision. And the glasses will help with the _bijziendheid_ too. You're welcome."

 _Bijziendheid_ is just nonsense syllables. "What is it?" Roy asks, after several seconds of fruitless speculation. Peripheral vision, fine; they've established his doesn't work nearly as well as it should, but there's nothing else wrong with his eyes except maybe the half-Xingese shape of them. But that's his own hang-up, and nothing a pair of goggle-glasses will help with.

"Oh," Hange says, frowning. Hange is not great at translating words. Better than Mike and Lotte, but not as good as Levi and Moblit. "It's … when you can only see things that are close to you."

Roy blinks, slightly and nonsensically offended. "I'm not near-sighted." Oddly, Hange and Jansen seem to understand _kurzsichtig_ perfectly, which makes Roy wonder why'd they even bothered using some other word. Just to confuse him, perhaps, because that's the sort of sneaky nasty thing Hange might do just for kicks.

"You are," Jansen says, entirely matter of fact, not at all concerned that he is crushing Roy's soul. He looks up from his notepad. "It's not too bad yet." Meaning that it will become worse later? Roy doesn't even want to ask. His vision has always been spectacular, a point of pride even if he'd done nothing to earn it except had the luck to be graced with good genetics. Neither of his parents had worn glasses, at least not that he can recall, and his aunt doesn't, and so he'd had no expectation that he would, at least not until he was much older than he is now.

"All right," Hange says, also oblivious to Roy's inner turmoil about his vision. "Let's see how you do."

Jansen nods, though he looks grumpy, if only marginally more than his default state. "If he vomits, I am ending this experiment immediately."

"He's not going to vomit," Hange says. "You're not going to vomit, right?"

"I hope I won't," Roy says sincerely.

"Good," Hange says, full of nothing but good cheer. Hange loves experiments. "Then we are over there about once."

Which means nothing, at least to Roy. Presumably it means something to Hange and Jansen. Another fucking idiom, probably. Irritated, Roy makes a mental note to ask Levi later. Roy _loathes_ idioms.

Hange and Jansen retreat, leaving Roy alone on the launch platform. In front of him, the first checkpoint looms. It is just a tall pole made of wood, and Roy never has any trouble reaching it. The second checkpoint is off to the right, next to a tall tree that has obstinately failed to fall over despite the hundreds of people who have crashed into it over the years. From here, Roy can just make out the nasty gouge in the trunk from that time Roy had misfired his clamps from two meters away. The third checkpoint is far enough away that Roy is always somewhat concerned that his anchor lines won't reach, even though they always do, and between the third and fourth checkpoint is the tower obstacle that is the bane of Roy's existence. The turn to avoid hitting the tower is the one he is most likely to muff, the one that almost always sets his stomach lurching. On the depressingly rare occasions he makes it past the tower to the fourth checkpoint, he always ends up getting his lines tangled in branches of the enormous leafy oak tree halfway to the fifth checkpoint.

Roy has never actually made it to the fifth checkpoint, and he is only familiar with the locations of the sixth, seventh and eighth because Levi made him walk the course a few dozen times when Roy's training began, before they'd realized how much difficulty Roy was going to have with the gear.

Well, he doesn't need to complete the course today, he reminds himself. He's got a week for that. He only needs to prove that with this monstrously unattractive eyewear, he will be able to maneuver without losing his breakfast. "Simple," he mutters, and waves to the observation platform to indicate he's ready.

Hmm, he thinks, dropping his hand. Jansen might have a point about the near-sightedness, because with the glasses on Roy can actually make out the impatient expression on Hange's face, and the way Moblit is bouncing nervously up and down on his heels. Levi is nowhere to be seen, though he is probably just out of sight behind the wooden safety wall that rings the platform, or perhaps he is lurking on the staircase that leads up to the platform, waiting for Roy to launch.

Hange raises the stopwatch and mouths something, and even with the glasses there is no way Roy can possibly lipread from this distance, though he imagines it's something like, "Get on with it; we don't have all day."

Which is fair. Everyone here has responsibilities that have nothing to do with ensuring that Roy can successfully use the ODM gear; he is well aware that the amount of time and individualized attention he's received for his training has far exceeded what is typical, or even what is practical. He hopes that the investment will prove to be worth it.

Roy checks his glasses to make sure they're properly seated, takes a deep breath, aims his clamps, releases the anchor lines, takes a deeper breath, and launches.

Wind buffets past him and all he feels is terror, terror, terror; will he ever not be terrified as his feet leave the ground? Roy devoutly hopes so. This is insanity; how does the gear even _work_?! It defies everything he knows about physics. Who the fuck thought up this godforsaken piece of equipment — probably this world's version of Edward Elric, that's who, probably just because it seemed like a good idea at the time even though anyone with half a brain and a gram of sanity would know that if humans were meant to fly they would have wings, and …

… Roy reaches the first checkpoint and maneuvers to the right, pleased when there is no attendant burst of queasiness, though the turn is gradual enough that it does not usually upset his stomach on the first flight of the morning anyway, although Jansen made him eat, so the risk of nausea definitely seems higher. He releases his secondary anchors and recalls the first, but the mechanism makes a worrisome clicking noise, and the lines had better not break, because he is 15 meters above the ground and if he flubs a turn the anchor lines are the only thing between him and a broken neck; and …

… Roy reaches the second checkpoint and does not crash into the tree, which always feels like a little bit of a victory, considering how many times he'd hit it during his first three weeks. He blames that entirely on whomever laid out the course; there is no good reason to put a checkpoint right next to a tree unless you _want_ people to crash, and that was probably Hange, because Hange is sadistic like that. Roy switches anchor sets again; the mechanism is still clicking, and he is _not_ going to panic, because Levi checked the gear and Moblit checked the gear and Hange checked the gear and if there was something wrong surely one of them would have noticed; they wouldn't let him go out with gear that was liable to dangerously malfunction …

… Roy makes it to and past the third checkpoint, which also always feels like a victory since a quarter of the time he doesn't get there, and then it's easy going for a little bit, just flying in a straight line until suddenly the tower of doom looms in front of him. To avoid it Roy will have to swerve, and he screws this up all the time; he can never seem to get the timing right, and even when he does, that's usually when his stomach departs his abdomen for his throat. Clenching his stomach muscles helps sometimes; closing his eyes would help more but then he'd flub it for sure, and anyway, this is the whole reason why he's got the glasses, right? There's nothing to do but clench his stomach and keep his eyes open and wait until the right time to swerve, which is just about any second now …

… Roy turns sharply to the left and doesn't hit the tower and the world doesn't go blurry and his stomach stays firmly seated in his torso. He is astonished by this turn of events; he thinks that maybe he didn't actually expect the glasses to work no matter how many times Hange swore they would. He's so busy being astonished that he almost forgets to switch his anchors again; by the time he switches them out his timing is several seconds off, but that's not necessarily irreparable. It's the sort of correction a more experienced user would do automatically, the sort of a correction Roy can sometimes do if he is careful and lucky and not thoroughly distracted by nausea. He can't control his luck, but he can be careful and his stomach's okay, so he releases a little extra gas to increase his speed despite the lizard part of his brain that is gibbering at him to _slow the fuck down, you moron, or have you forgotten you are 15 meters above the ground_ …

… Luck and care and his stomach all cooperate, and Roy somehow manages to stay upright and heading in the right direction, and he navigates the fourth checkpoint all right even though he's kind of wobbly when he passes it, but he's often wobbly so he takes it in stride and focuses on getting past the oak tree. His brain helpfully reminds him that he has never once made it past the oak tree, not one single time. Roy tells his brain to shut the fuck up because he's never had glasses on before, and maybe besides correcting for his lousy peripheral vision and his previously undiagnosed myopia, they will also correct for his shitty maneuvering. One can always hope, at least …

… Roy makes it past the oak tree for the first time ever, though he leaves some shreds of fabric behind. Levi is going to be annoyed that he has to sew up Roy's trousers, but not so annoyed that he won't do it, because Roy has many talents but sewing is not one of them; the first time Levi saw Roy fumbling his way through sewing on a button, he'd nearly had a seizure. Since then Roy has not been allowed anywhere near the sewing kit, and Roy pretends to be annoyed about it but actually he's relieved, because that is one less thing to worry about, and Levi sews as neatly as any tailor. After the oak tree it's mostly a straight line again to the fifth checkpoint, and swooping past it he feels a thrilling flush of victory and even a smidgeon of hope that maybe he _will_ be able to pass the assessment next week after all …

… it's at roughly this point that Roy realizes that in his elation, he forgot to release his primary anchors before recalling the secondary pair, which means he is flying through the air with no anchors whatsoever, and he is not good enough with the gear to overcome _that_ particular mistake. He wonders briefly if he can stay on course by wishing really hard, but quickly concludes that wishing is not a practical manner of ODM navigation. There is nowhere to anchor except the ground, at least nowhere for someone at his pathetic skill level, but anchoring to the ground is still better than plummeting to his death. He releases his anchors and vents gas to slow his speed to a level somewhat less than 'break your fucking neck fast,' and shortly thereafter he is tumbling down to the ground. Landing like that is always a very disorienting few seconds of pain and panic, but then it's over and he's lying on his back, safely on the ground where all sensible humans stay. He has dirt in his mouth and leaves in his hair and a sore spot on his hip that is surely going to turn into a spectacular bruise, but he's all in one piece, with no broken bones and breathing fine.

After a moment of blinking slowly up at the clear blue sky, waiting for his breath to regulate, he hears feet pounding in the dirt. That will be Moblit and probably Armin, because even though Armin wasn't invited, he undoubtedly came anyway. Levi might also come to check on Roy, even though Roy told him very clearly to stay away until Roy is finished for the day. Levi said he would but he said it in a tone of voice that meant he was probably lying. Roy would be okay if Levi came to check on him, he decides. He likes when Levi checks on him. Just so long as Levi goes away before Roy has to try the gear again.

The footsteps are getting closer. Roy decides he will wait for them to reach him before sitting up. While he is waiting, Roy realizes he is not even the slightest bit nauseated.

So that's a definite win. He'll take it.

* * *

After Roy's first successful outing with his glasses, his skill with the ODM gear improves steadily. He makes it to the seventh checkpoint for the first time ever by the end of the first day, and completes the entire course on the third. With four days to go before his assessment, he spends many long hours on the course, gaining speed and confidence with each successful navigation. He does not throw up a single time. Hange is smugly self-congratulatory about the glasses. Everyone else is just congratulatory. Roy himself is relieved but still anxious, worried about what will happen if he fails.

"You won't fail," Levi says.

Roy is pacing around his quarters, which are hardly big enough to pace in, especially with his crap covering every surface, including the floor. Levi is sitting cross-legged on the bed to avoid touching anything else.

"But if I do," Roy worries.

"You won't."

"But-"

"You _won't._ For fuck's sake, sit down. You're making me dizzy."

Roy's nerves are infectious, and Levi feels anxious too though he is confident Roy will do well enough to pass, even if he won't be setting any course records for speed or accuracy. But the week before Roy's exam is also the week before the next expedition, and that brings with it an entirely different set of concerns.

Everyone going on the expedition is ultimately responsible for their own equipment, but a dozen people are assigned to double-check that each piece of every set of ODM gear is working perfectly. The grooms in the stables are working overtime checking that the horses are fed and shod and free from injury or illness. The infirmary is cleared out, restocked, and prepared for the inevitable onslaught of injuries; soldiers who have trained as medics take refresher courses in emergency treatment for crushed and severed limbs. But no matter how well-prepared the expedition team is, it is a certainty that some people who set out beyond the walls will not be returning, and that knowledge sets the base on desperate edge.

It is not a happy week.

The day before Roy's test, two days before the expedition, Moblit drags Levi and an intensely anxious Roy to dinner in the mess hall, where Hange has staked out a table in the back of the room next to an enormous wooden pillar of dubious utility. The pillar doesn't appear to provide any structural integrity to the ceiling, and functions mainly as a place for people to stick up flyers, graffiti, and the troeven league rankings, where Roy and Lotte are currently battling for the top spot.

Roy is picking at his mushroom tart, a dish Levi knows Roy loves because of its copious amounts of smelly cheese. Any other day, Roy would have inhaled the tart and charmed a second piece out of Anja on the serving line. Tonight, Roy has not eaten even half, and seems fascinated by the troeven schedule tacked up on the wooden pillar beneath the rankings sheet, even though Levi is pretty sure the schedule is from last month.

"Are you going to finish that?" Moblit asks Roy eventually. "Because I will if you're not going to."

It takes a moment for Roy to drag his gaze away from the messy troeven schedule. He shakes himself back to awareness and slides his plate across the table with a sigh. "Have it. My stomach is"—he frowns, searching for a word—"like ropes for shoes," he says eventually. "Tied up."

"Shoelaces," Levi says. "Don't be nervous."

Roy glances at him, eyes narrowed. "It's easy to say for you. You're not taking the test tomorrow in front of all the people."

"I took it when I had to," Levi said. "We all did. You'll do fine."

Roy mutters something nasty under his breath, then sits up straighter and pulls his brownie towards him. His appetite is hardly ever so muted that he won't eat dessert. Actually, when he's anxious he tends to favor sweets. "In Amestris," he says, as he breaks off a small corner of the brownie, rolling it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth, "to be a State Alchemist you must take a test. I'm not so nervous like this before that test."

Hange leans forward, eyes bright and curious. Hange is a little obsessed with Amestris, maybe because Roy hardly ever talks about it. "What kind of test?"

Roy glances up from the brownie. "It's three parts. The first you must write all your answers. That part is very long, maybe six hours. The second part is you must speak with a … a _psychologe._ Do you know it? A doctor of the head."

"Psychologist," Levi says, correcting Roy's pronunciation slightly.

"Psychologist. Many people take the test, but most do not pass the first and second parts. The third part is you must show your alchemy. And very … what is not many? Is it _wenige_?"

"Few," Levi says. "Almost the same."

"Few," Roy repeats. "Very few people pass the alchemy test. In my year I'm the only one. But I knew before I take it — took it — that I will pass. I'm the only alchemist who knows flame. It's very, _ahm_ , I don't know how to say it. _Beeindruckend_." He makes a face of awe, eyes wide and mouth in a little oval. "It makes a lot of noise and light, and the military likes it because it can be a weapon. And I was very good. Not so good as I am now. But very good." He grins then, not modestly, and breaks another piece of his brownie, slapping away Moblit's questing fingers. "I was also young. Maybe a little stupid. _Übermütig_ , I think. Do you know it?"

 _Über_ is 'over,' and 'confident' is the same, so Levi nods. "How young?"

"Twenty. I don't believe I can fail at anything then." Roy shrugs. "I learned as I get older, I am not … _ahm,_ I don't know the word. I know I can fail."

"Well, you're not going to fail this test, because the glasses work perfectly," Hange says, still smug.

"And because you've been working your ass off," Moblit says.

Roy actually twists around in his chair before he catches himself and mutters something about idioms. Moblit laughs and takes advantage of Roy's distraction to grab a piece of his brownie.

Roy curses amiably at him when he realizes, but a little of his tension has evaporated and he makes it through the rest of the meal without suffering any other obvious attacks of nerve. When they eventually make it back to Levi's quarters, though, Roy heads straight for Levi's liquor cabinet, a small shelf in one end table in Levi's living room. 

"One drink," Levi says firmly.

"Yes, yes, I know," Roy says, pouring himself a generous tumbler of some kind of hard liquor that Levi doesn't think he used to own, which means Roy probably stashed it there at some point, dissatisfied with the breadth or quality of Levi's stash. Maybe both. "My head must be clear tomorrow." He finishes the drink in one long swallow, which is impressive and a little scary, then stalks over to Levi, shedding clothing as he nears. "But you know one drink isn't enough to make me sleep."

"Well," Levi says, squaring his stance and trying to sound resigned, even as he shucks his own jacket and untucks his shirt. "I suppose we'll have to figure something out."

Anxiety, it turns out, makes Roy particularly voracious, but no less determined than ever to wring every last possible drop of sensation from Levi's body.

Levi cannot, and does not, complain.

On the best of nights, neither Roy nor Levi sleep very well, but on this night at least the sex is athletic and tiring enough that Roy makes it through with no nightmares, so that he is reasonably well rested in the morning, even if he is too nervous to stomach more than a single cup of juniper tea and one piece of dry toast for breakfast.

Roy's hands are shaking when he's fastening his straps, so Levi sits him down in the big chair and kneels between his legs, threading each buckle with careful and precise movements. "You're going to do fine," Levi says as he fastens the last strap, allowing not even a hint of uncertainty to enter his voice. The sun is still low in the sky, and it shines through the window and lands in Roy's lap, washing out the scars on Roy's hands so they're almost invisible. When Levi reaches for Roy's hands, though, he can still feel the scars beneath his fingers, bumpy ropes of pain painted inelegantly across Roy's skin.

"I don't want to leave here," Roy says quietly. He's looking down at where their hands are clasped together. "When I take the alchemy test, I wasn't worry what will happen if I fail it."

"You said you knew you wouldn't fail."

Roy breathes, quick and shallow. "I believed I will pass, but you can never know for true before. If I make mistakes today—" His voice is thready, on the verge of panic but not quite there yet.

"It's okay if you make mistakes," Levi interrupts. "You don't need to be perfect. Just good enough."

"If I make too many mistakes," Roy says doggedly. He looks up from under his bangs, messy today less by design than because he's run his hands through them a hundred times since he washed up. The color of his hair has always been remarkable to Levi and remains so, glossy and darker than anyone Levi's ever met, even Mikasa. Roy's eyes are dark too, as exotic in color as they are in shape, a brown so deep they're nearly black. "Maybe I don't pass today. And then I can't stay."

Levi kneads Roy's hands slowly, with a firm and steady pressure. Sex and alcohol work best to soothe Roy's nerves, but touch can be almost as effective: physical connection, calm and quiet. "You're going to do fine," Levi says. He keeps his voice level and soft. "Everything is going to be fine."

A short huff of a laugh escapes Roy's lips. "Maybe 'fine' is not the best word. If I pass, I'll go outside the wall to fight Titans with you tomorrow."

Levi presses his thumb into the spot where Roy's pinky would touch his palm if he were making a fist. "That's right," he says, squeezing hard. "You'll go to fight Titans with me, and you'll be amazing. They're taking bets on you, you know. How many Titans you'll kill. Whether you'll kill more than me."

Roy looks vaguely scandalized. "Nobody will kill more Titans than you. I saw you, the first day I come here. You moved so fast, I thought maybe you weren't human."

"You shot fire from your hands," Levi retorts. "I thought maybe _you_ weren't human." He switches to the same spot on Roy's other palm. Roy lets out a small grunt of discomfort, then melts a little into the chair. Is it weird, Levi wonders, that after only two months he already knows a half dozen ways to soothe Roy? That he can sense the exact moment the Roy's spine relaxes, even before the wrinkle in Roy's brow starts to straighten? Sometimes Levi thinks he already knows Roy's tells better than his own. He switches to the fleshy web of fabric between Roy's thumb and forefingers, squeezing firmly, both hands at the same time, keeping the pressure firm until the last of the tension bleeds out of Roy's shoulders. "Don't think about what will happen tomorrow," Levi says firmly. "Think about what will happen tonight, after you pass your exam." Then he leans up to press a kiss on Roy's mouth, long and decadent.

Roy kisses back immediately, and licks his lips when Levi pulls away. He stares down at Levi for a moment, eyes dark and warm. Then he grins, a little saucily. "Are you saying me you'll give me sex if I pass?"

"So much sex," Levi promises, letting the say/tell error slide for the moment. "The really good kind."

"All the sex with you is the really good kind," Roy protests, but he sounds amused. Calm. His hands and voice are steady, and when he stands up, his posture is straight and tall, confident. He puts on his glasses and checks himself in the mirror, running his hands through his bangs one last time. They fall to his forehead in perfect disarray. "Let's go. I'm ready."

Moblit meets them halfway to the training grounds with a cup of coffee and a chocolate pastry from Opa's, still warm from the oven. As annoying as it is to have Moblit feeding Roy when Levi is perfectly competent, Levi has to concede that the pastry is a nice touch, because Roy had hardly been able to choke down his toast but he inhales the pastry in three bites. Levi doesn't like coffee and so when they are together Roy usually restricts himself to tea, but he takes the mug from Moblit and makes appreciative and borderline pornographic noises as he sips at it. Levi gathers that the coffee is from a new coffeehouse in town and that Moblit got up an hour early so that he could get the coffee and the pastry fresh. This is just the sort of thing that makes Moblit so hard to dislike despite Levi's best efforts.

Moblit fills the rest of their walk with meaningless chatter: who's fucking whom, who's fighting whom, the latest corruption scandal from Mitras. None of it is remotely interesting to Levi, but then again, he doesn't know who half of the people are that Moblit's talking about. Roy doesn't seem to be suffering from the same handicap; if anything, he apparently knows some dirt that even Moblit hadn't heard, which shouldn't surprise Levi as much as it does. Really, Levi doesn't know why he is surprised at all. Roy sort of accumulates knowledge by accident, everywhere he goes. People are always telling him things that they have no business telling him. Like, for instance, that Dirk wears ladies' panties when they go out on expeditions. Levi could not care less about Dirk's panty-fetish; in his book any kind of underwear is better than no underwear, which is how half of the Corps likes to operate. But Dirk wearing ladies' underwear is the kind of thing nobody actually needs to know but Dirk, and why would Dirk confide in Roy, of all people? Dirk is still half convinced Roy's an alien.

They part at the training grounds. Moblit takes Roy over to Hange for a final check on the gear, and Levi makes his way to the observation deck, not quite as calm as he hopes he appeared. Not that he doesn't believe Roy can navigate the course, but the wind is a little strong today and the sun is bright and unforgiving, and Roy was two minutes away from a panic attack less than an hour ago. Sometimes for Roy the line between calm and panic is very thin and breakable.

Half the base is here, filling the bleachers. Levi scowls at the crowd. Roy is vain and a show-off but he's also going to need to keep all his focus on his maneuvers, and cheers and shouts from an audience might prove to be too big of a distraction.

"Don't bite your nails," Erwin says to Levi blandly, appearing from nowhere like the demon-spawn he is and coming to stand at Levi's side. Levi wrenches his fingers away from his mouth and shoves them deep inside his pockets and resists with some effort the urge to move away.

"Fuck you too," Levi says automatically, to which Erwin merely sighs.

Down on the ground, Hange and Moblit are giving some last-minute instructions or encouragement or warnings to Roy. They are too far away for Levi to make out their expressions. But Moblit checks out Roy's gear one final time while Hange fills out some paperwork, then Moblit slaps Roy on the shoulder and gives him a thumbs up, and he and Hange leave Roy on the launching pad.

Next to Levi, Erwin clears his throat with a low cough. "Is he ready?"

Levi grunts. Erwin has all of Levi's reports, which Levi turns in precisely on time, every damn one, and Levi is brutally honest in his assessment of Roy's skills. Hange prepares a separate set of reports and is no less honest. "He'll be fine."

Erwin makes a displeased noise. "That's not what I asked."

"That's the best answer you're going to get. He can get himself into the air, and he won't fly himself into a tree. It's good enough." Or so Levi hopes. Even with the glasses, Roy is shakier with the gear than Levi would prefer, probably because he still loathes it nearly as much as he loathes the glasses and would much rather stay on the ground. Levi would never let another soldier as weak on the gear go out on an expedition, but no other soldiers can shoot fire from their fingertips.

For any ODM assessment, the first run is the most important one. A good first run will give Roy the confidence for the next two. A bad first run might send him spiraling. Levi is not a religious man and has never understood the point of praying to a deity: Levi would rather not believe in a god that lets Titans and people like Kenny exist. But he finds himself hoping so fervently for Roy to succeed that it might as well be a prayer.

Roy launches smoothly and sails through to the first checkpoint, maneuvers competently enough around the tree at the second, and reaches the third with no difficulty, even though a week ago that would have been reason for celebration. He neatly avoids the tower of doom, and Levi lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. To Levi's right, Erwin grunts in what is possibly a sign of approval or else a sign of digestive distress.

They watch in silence as Roy switches out his first and second anchor line when he hits the fourth checkpoint. The motion isn't as smooth as it should be and there's an instant where Roy's being pulled in opposite directions, but he recovers well enough to straighten out and avoid the oak tree where he left a swatch of cloth earlier in the week. Levi hisses out a thin stream of air between his teeth and unclenches his fists.

"You're going to be watching out for him tomorrow," Erwin says into the silence.

Levi's jaw tics. "I watch out for everyone."

On the course, Roy has made it to the fifth checkpoint, which is a mock 15-meter Titan that doubles for target practice. It's scarred and scorched and half its face is missing, plus there is a Jaeger-sized crack in its right shoulder that will be repaired "someday soon," or so Gregor has been promising for months.

"You're going to be watching out for him particularly," Erwin says. His arm is folded across his chest and he's frowning as he studies Roy, who only narrowly avoids leaving a Roy-shaped crack in the Titan's left shoulder.

Levi takes a deep breath in. "I can't tell if you're accusing me of something or not. What's your concern?"

On the course, Roy is struggling a little. He last anchor-line switch was smooth, but a strong gust of wind blew him to the left and he's fighting to correct. This is not his best run but it's not a disaster, either. Erwin turns away and scans Levi's face, looking for something, maybe, or maybe just trying to get Levi off-balance because he's a dick like that. "You're going to be distracted."

Levi pretends he doesn't care that Erwin is staring at him and steps closer to the edge of the observation deck to get the sun out of his eyes. "I don't get distracted."

"Bullshit. This is Roy. You're in lo-" Erwin stops himself from saying something Levi will have to punch him for. "You care for him, obviously."

Levi latches on to the observation platform railing and stares straight ahead. Roy is past the sixth checkpoint and headed for the seventh, a rickety wooden tower with long spindly arms reaching out to the sky in all directions, requiring precise maneuvering to avoid tangling one's anchor lines. Successfully passing it requires several short, sharp turns of the kind that used to leave Roy retching, and Levi doesn't take another breath until Roy has managed it, with only a bit too much fumbling and one nerve-wracking near-miss. "If you're asking me if I'll put his safety ahead of everyone else's, then no, I won't. But I'm not going to let him get eaten just to prove that I can stay impartial in the field."

Erwin's quiet for a moment, then he makes the noise which is his creepy excuse for a laugh. Not that Levi is really in a position to talk about creepy laughs, since Roy assures him that Levi's extremely infrequent laugh makes him sound vaguely psychopathic. "I think that'd defeat both our purposes. Look, Levi, I don't have to tell you how critical this mission is. I don't want Roy to get hurt, you know that."

Levi does know that. He nods in acknowledgement and tightens his hands on the railing. Roy is on the straightaway between the seventh and eighth checkpoint. There are no obstacles between the two but the expanse is very long and provides no leeway for mistiming maneuvers.

"But even more than that," Erwin continues, "I want him to go out there and burn some fucking Titans to ash. We need incontrovertible proof how effective he is. And even if he's not perfect on the gear yet, a good performance tomorrow will just prove how much more effective he'll be when he _is_ perfect on the gear."

A wooden splinter makes its way into Levi's palm and he plucks it out without looking away from the course. Roy has to switch his anchors one more time and then it's just a matter of landing on his feet. Levi rubs away the small spot of blood on his palm and glares sullenly at Erwin. "I'm still failing to see your point."

"I know you. I know you're going to want to keep him safe. But you're going to have to let him take some risks. He's got to prove himself out there tomorrow or all of this was for nothing."

Down on the course, Roy sticks the landing. It is probably the best part of his whole run. The bleachers erupt in over-enthusiastic cheers at Roy's success, and Roy rubs at the back of his neck self-consciously. He flashes a quick thumbs up at the crowd, then blades his hand over his eyes to filter out the sun's glare and squints towards the observation deck. Levi gives a small wave even though he feels stupid and self-conscious with Erwin standing right next to him, even more so when Erwin snorts.

Roy jogs back to the starting point, which is conveniently close to the eighth checkpoint, where he confers with Hange and Moblit. Hange had been scribbling notes the whole time, but Levi's done enough assessments himself to know that nothing Roy did wrong was sufficient to disqualify the run. And with one run under his belt, no matter how sloppy, Roy only needs to do the whole thing two more times. And not screw up. And not _throw_ up. No problem. Levi hopes.

"He'll prove himself just fine," Levi says. "And I don't think I could stop him from taking risks if I tried. He's reckless as fuck. We told you how he slid through the Titans' legs that first day."

"I've heard the story many times," Erwin says dryly. "Each version more fantastical than the last."

"He'll be fine," Levi says stubbornly. "But I'm not going to let him get himself killed. Or anyone else, if I can help it."

"I know you won't," Erwin says. He steps closer to the railing, practically shoulder to shoulder with Levi. Or, well, shoulder to head. Erwin is goddamn tall. "I know you save as many as you can."

As many as Levi can is never enough, but Levi keeps that to himself.

Down on the course, Roy takes off again, and Levi lets the conversation lapse into silence.

Runs two and three are similar to the first, each with their own nail-biting moments, but no errors so bad as to warrant a failure. "Congratulations, you're officially certified," Hange announces after Roy's third and final run. Levi is waiting on the ground when Roy makes his final landing. Everyone in the bleachers is whooping and clapping. Roy's test is the biggest thing to happen in the Corps since … well, since he arrived, probably. Hange claps Roy on the shoulder. "When we go out tomorrow, just don't look into the sun like you did this last time. Titans don't give you second chances just because you're momentarily blind."

"I'll do my best," Roy says dryly, yanking off his glasses. He never wears them a second longer than he has to, which Levi thinks is a shame. Levi secretly finds the glasses kind of sexy, mostly because of the way the strap tousles Roy's hair.

Moblit grins hugely and pats Roy familiarly on his ass. It is a sign of how deeply Moblit has insinuated himself into Roy's affections that Roy doesn't even flinch at the inappropriate touching. "Normally we have a party after every assessment exam," Moblit says cheerfully, "but it'll have to wait until we get back. No parties the night before an expedition."

"I don't need a party. But I wouldn't say no to a drink."

"Mike did brew a new batch of wine just for the occasion," Moblit offers. "I think he was saving it for after we get back, but we might be able to convince him to let us have a taste."

It's not even mid-morning. Levi scowls at Roy for asking and at Moblit for abetting.

Roy takes the silent rebuke with an exaggerated eye-roll. "I didn't mean _now_."

The fuck he didn't, Levi thinks. There is no time of the day that Roy will say no to a drink, not even first thing in the morning before he's brushed his teeth. Not that Levi has ever offered him a drink first thing in the morning but the point stands.

"After lunch, then," Moblit says. "Are you all packed?"

"Almost," Roy says, which is not, perhaps, an outright lie, but is certainly a horrific exaggeration. Roy has a new Corps-issued expedition pack, and as of yesterday afternoon it was sitting on the floor of his quarters, empty but for a pair of underwear and a pair of socks. Since the expedition is supposed to return by the evening, the underwear and socks aren't even necessary, but Roy said his aunt always told him to never go anywhere without clean undergarments. Levi thinks he would like Roy's aunt.

"He'll be ready," Levi says flatly.

Moblit slaps Roy on the ass again and leaves with Hange to start filling out paperwork, and Roy turns to Levi, eyes glinting with some kind of mischief. "If I can't have a drink to celebrate, I should still get some, _ahm_ , _belohnung_? A present for passing? You promised me."

"Reward," Levi says, correcting the pronunciation only slightly. "And I said _tonight_. We have things to do now. Other things."

Roy glances at the sun. "It's not even ten o'clock." He drags his eyes up and down Levi's body with slow deliberation. "We have hours before lunch. What other things do we have to do?"

"You have to pack, for one," Levi says firmly. "And we have to refuel your gear and service kit. And I have to review the mission roster and expedition route with Erwin."

"You are not any fun," Roy says grumpily.

"I'll be plenty of fun later," Levi promises, and is rewarded with a grin as blinding as the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Roy, we knew you could do it! 
> 
> Ritual thanks to SapphireMusings for the beta. In your honor, my sweet, I removed probably a dozen commas as I was proofing this tonight. 
> 
> I hope all of you lovely readers enjoyed the action scenes, which are my absolute least favorite thing in the world to write. And there were TWO of them in this chapter. Double the torture.
> 
> Lastly ... the boyz in their uniforms! I spent waaaay too long on this one, fiddling with the shading on Roy's face and the shadows and OMG the _gloves_ , which were originally black. I even dragged one of my kids to stand next to me in the mirror so I could figure out how tall a short person (me) is next to a taller person (him) -- conveniently, the height difference between the two of us is roughly the same as between Roy and Levi. Pixel editors are not made for such fine work (especially the gloves). But now I have the completed image to stare at forever and ever. So, ultimately it was worth it in the end. :)
> 
> I say this all the time, but it's still true: comments = love. They seriously make my day.


	9. Out and about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy:  
> Roy is not really okay, but he is here for a reason and he doesn't need to be okay to do his duty. He was not okay a single day in Ishval. He nods, because he doesn't quite trust his voice, and Levi would pick up on it if Roy sounded anything less than sincere.
> 
> Levi:  
> Levi has no doubt this is true. Roy may be the messiest person anybody knows on any world. Levi is amazed again that they are sleeping together, no matter how sexually compatible they are. His dick, he supposes, doesn't share all of his compulsions. On balance, that is probably a good thing.

Going outside of the walls is unexpectedly terrifying to a degree Roy hadn't expected. His heart is thudding frantically in his chest and he can't stop swiveling around looking for Titans.

" _Doorgans_ , they don't come this close to the city," Levi says calmly, like he knows exactly what Roy's thinking, which he probably does because he's somewhat psychic that way.

Roy just nods and tries to calm himself down. He has fought these creatures before, he reminds himself, and came out of it without a scratch, and he'd been concussed at the time. Now he is healthy and prepared and Levi is at his side along with Hange and Moblit and Mike. They are accompanied by dozens of other soldiers and recruits, none of whom are alchemists, but none of them look scared; instead, they are excited and anticipatory, and all they have is their swords and their agility and their wits.

"Do I have to use the gear?" This is the thought most preying on his mind, that he will have to fight in the air. Even with the glasses, he can't help but think that it will just take one wrong twist of the controls, one swerve that is a little too quick, and he will be dizzy and disoriented and Titan-food.

"No. You don't have to do anything," Levi says. "For you, it's _maar_ a _voorzorgsmaatregel_. It's. Um. To keep you _veilig_. If it's too dangerous to be down low."

Roy honestly doesn't see how hurtling through the air can be safer than remaining with one's feet securely on the ground. He has heard stories of Titans plucking people out of the sky, and at least on the ground he knows which way is up. But Levi and his people have been fighting Titans for decades, and perhaps Roy is biased because of the weeks of vomiting.

"Be careful," Levi says, looking straight ahead and scowling. "You know what that means?"

Roy nods. "I will. I am. Not, not all the times. But most of them. How do you say that?"

" _Doorgans_ ," Levi says, which he'd just used before but is not a word Roy had yet figured out. "Or maybe _gewoonlijk_."

"Ah," Roy says. " _Gewöhnlich_." Usually. "It's bad I don't have my notebook."

"You'll remember," Levi says, sparing him a quick glance, his mouth turned up the tiniest bit at the corner. "Your memory is very good."

"For some things," Roy concedes. Riza has always told him he has a selective memory: fantastic at remembering the names of people and bars, lousy at remembering deadlines for paperwork. There is more than a little truth to this. But thinking about Riza just makes Roy ache and he doesn't think he can afford that today when they are out in the valley, unprotected, with Titans liable to attack at any moment.

They split up into squadrons, a stream of horses peeling off left and right. Roy rides with Levi's group, which is not a surprise but nonetheless eases a little of Roy's anxiety. Levi's group continues their original course, and Roy tries hard to keep his breathing steady as the other squads disappear into the distance, leaving their little group alone. They are not in any more danger in a smaller group than a larger one; if anything, they are safer — "Titans are attracted to people," Levi had explained, though it'd taken quite a while for Roy to grasp 'attracted.' "The more people, the faster the Titans come."

This may be true. At least, Roy has no reason to doubt it. But the very first day he'd arrived, a horde of Titans had appeared from nowhere to attack him and Levi still doesn't have a good explanation for that. Hange speculates that the lure was whatever alchemical phenomenon brought him here, in which case it won't be a problem again until Roy figures out how to recreate the alchemy to get back home. The chances of _that_ seem to be growing smaller by the day … but that's something else Roy can't let himself think about at the moment.

They ride for a little while with no Titan sightings, and the excursion might be relaxing if Roy weren't still jumping at every little movement on the horizon. Levi is very patient with him, in a way he usually isn't. Roy would be offended at being coddled, except that he's painfully aware exactly how much he needs coddling, especially out here. He is a city-boy born and bred; almost all the time he has spent out of an urban environment was in the villages and sands of Ishval, and those are not happy memories. The area around him is all green grass and lush trees, nature Roy has never really seen beyond the confines of a park. It's disorienting to see miles and miles of green with no buildings or roads, to know that on the other side of the hill ahead there is nothing but more grass and maybe another hill. It is even emptier than the Elrics' hometown of Risembool. Roy feels exposed and vulnerable in a way he never has before, not even in Ishval where he spent most of his time in sandy villages and cities.

A flock of birds flies overhead, twittering and oblivious to their presence. Roy is unaccustomed to such displays of wildlife too. There are plenty of birds in Amestris, but they are gray, dirty, disease-ridden things, always pecking at the ground and leaving their disgusting feces everywhere.

"I never saw a bird before the Corps," Levi says mildly, pulling his horse next to Roy's. "Not up in the sky."

If Roy understands Levi's history correctly, Levi had been in his mid-20s when he joined the Corps. So maybe as strange as this is for Roy, it is also strange for Levi, or was strange once upon a time. "What did you think, when you saw it?"

Levi considers his answer. When he's not yelling at people, he's quiet and thoughtful, unobtrusive, his presence somehow muted and dampened. Roy likes the quiet introspective Levi, but he lo— _likes_ _more_ the fierce, explosive one. "I was angry," is what Levi says eventually.

"Angry?" Roy is sure he has misunderstood. Their languages share so many words; it is the only reason they can communicate so well already — after six months in Ishval Roy wasn't even a quarter as fluent as he already is here — but some words sound the same yet mean completely different things. Moblit had called him smart once and Roy had had to hide his hurt because in Amestrian the word means terrible. That particular linguistic confusion had taken a few days of wounded pride to resolve. "Angry, like …?" He makes a mad face.

"Mmm," Levi agrees.

Roy is still confused. "Why?" He doesn't particularly like birds but they're nothing to get angry about.

Levi shrugs. "A lot of _redenen_."

Roy tries, but there's no cognate. " _Redenen_?"

"Um, a _reden_ is … it's why you do something."

Reason, Roy thinks. He repeats the word out loud to commit it to memory and wishes again he'd brought his notebook. "Tell me one. A reason why you are angry at the birds."

"I wasn't angry _at_ the birds," Levi says. "I was angry because I had never seen birds in the sky before. And because Titans don't eat birds. And because birds can fly where they want, when they want, but people have to live behind the walls."

This is a lot of words for Roy, but Levi knows exactly how quickly he can speak and still leave Roy with a hope of understanding, and Levi is also good at mostly sticking to vocabulary Roy's already mastered. "You are … were … angry because birds are … what is the word, _frei_? To, like you say, to go where they want when they want?"

"Free," Levi says. "Same word. And yes, I guess so. I spent my life in the Underground. No one who lives there is free, but they don't know it. There aren't any birds. If you see one, it's there by mistake." He is quiet for a moment, thinking. "I was angry at the Titans," he muses. "And angry at us … at the humans … for letting the Titans trap us." He glances at Roy. "You understand trap?"

 _Vangen_ and _fangen_ are practically the same. "Yes." Roy thinks of Ishval and how even its largest cities had seemed suffocating; he thinks of Bradley pinning him to the ground through his hands; he thinks of Truth taking his eyesight and the dark being so heavy around him he thought he'd choke on it. He understands being trapped.

There's a sudden commotion among the riders at the front of their little pack, and when Roy looks up he sees a red flare arcing through the sky.

"Hange's group," Levi says tersely, already jerking his horse to the right.

Hange is fully capable on the gear and is also one of the best fighters in all the Corps, almost as good as Levi. The soldiers in Hange's squadron are well trained and reliable. There is no reason to break formation and attempt to intervene. If the Titans are already attacking, by the time Levi's group gets there the battle may be over one way or the other. These are all the thoughts Roy has time for before he is digging his heels into his horse's flank and following Levi. Roy is certain of very little in this new and strange world, but one thing he knows without a doubt is that his place is beside Levi.

Roy's horse is well trained, much better trained than Roy. Roy took the required equestrian course when he was a student at the Academy, but had never ridden a horse before then and had never ridden another one until he landed here. Hange's main concern for the past two months had been getting Roy functional on the ODM gear; horseback riding was a lower priority once Roy had established that he knew the basics.

Now, Roy is wishing he'd spent just a little more time getting reaccustomed to the art. For one thing, horses are _big_. Ray doesn't remember being this far off the ground last time he rode. For another, horses are bouncy and uncomfortable and they definitely have minds of their own. Roy would give anything for a good old reliable car (even though neither Riza nor Jean ever let him drive, so his skills are a little rusty).

Everyone else in Levi's group is accelerating into a rapid gallop. Roy grits his teeth and does the same, clinging onto the reins for dear life and hoping his horse knows not to kill him.

His horse doesn't kill him, but Roy arrives a minute or two after everyone else, and Levi's squadron has already swung into action next to Hange's. A few steaming Titan corpses litter the ground, but there's a horde approaching from the distance, and Roy is struck again by the sheer improbable enormity of the creatures; their marionette-like jerkiness that belies their incredible speed; the incongruous, vapid smiles that curve the corners of their enormous gaping mouths. Titans are horrible in a way that reminds Roy vaguely of Gluttony: sheer stupid hunger incarnated. But Gluttony was a single entity, and Gluttony was not 15 or 30 meters tall.

The Titans are _enormous_. Somehow, in the two months he's been here, hacking away at trees and wooden models, Roy's forgotten how very big the Titans actually are. They are, some of them, as big as fucking _buildings._

Roy is frozen on his horse, just staring. Levi appears from nowhere and alights on the ground. He moves so quickly sometimes; Roy is still not used to it. "You okay?" he asks, changing out the blade on his sword, which means that in the few minutes it took Roy to catch up, Levi's already killed a few Titans.

Roy is not really okay, but he is here for a reason and he doesn't need to be okay to do his duty. He was not okay a single day in Ishval. He nods, because he doesn't quite trust his voice, and Levi would pick up on it if Roy sounded anything less than sincere.

Levi gives him a long, hard stare, then shoves his sword back into the holster. "They can't win against you," he says. "Your fire will kill them every time. Just don't let them catch you."

Roy nods again, more decisively this time, and tugs on the edges of his gloves, pulling them taut so his fingers nestle snugly in the cloth. Levi tracks the motion with his eyes and gives a nod of his own, then twists around and takes off without another word, a blur of brown cloth and polished steel in the sky.

 _Just don't let them catch you_ , Levi had said. Roy breathes in deep, letting the air fill his lungs. Transmutation energy is prickling his nerves, sparking under his skin. _Your fire will kill them every time._

All right, Roy thinks, slipping off his horse and sending it to safety. There is a 10-meter Titan about 30 yards away, stumbling around like the great big dolt it is, and as Roy watches, it lurches to the left, waving its meaty paws in the air and leaving the back of its neck entirely exposed.

Roy wills a flame to life with a simple snap. Fire leaps through the air, blazing white, and the Titan falls with an impact hard enough to shake the earth. Somewhere in the distance, Moblit whoops with joy.

Roy's grin feels savage and feral as it slips across his face, and he runs into the melee, heart pounding with terror and excitement. _Just don't let them catch you_.

He can do that.

* * *

Erwin is waiting just outside the stables when the expedition returns, his face pinched with worry, expression darkening as he counts the survivors. They lost only six people, which is better than almost any expedition previously, but those six lives will rest on Erwin's conscience forever, no matter that everyone in the Corps knows the risks they face every time they leave the safety of the walls.

Levi sees Moblit helping Roy off his horse, wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady so Roy can keep weight off his ankle.

Erwin's expression pinches further. "What happened to him?"

"Nothing," Levi says. "He twisted it in a rabbit hole he didn't see. It didn't slow him down any." Why it hadn't is anyone's guess. Levi's betting adrenaline. He'd seen Roy fall, and his heart had leapt straight from his chest into his throat, but Roy had just rolled over and snapped his fingers, killing the Titan he'd been aiming for, and had gotten right back to his feet afterwards. It'd only been later, when the last Titan had fallen and they were back on their horses heading for the city, that Roy had finally admitted he was hurt. "It's swelling up like hell now, though. It'll need wrapping."

Erwin looks … displeased? Skeptical? Levi has a hard time reading Erwin even on a good day, and right now Levi is sweaty and exhausted and in a sour mood after riding through crowds of people yelling and jeering at them. "It wasn't the gear?"

Levi shrugs. "It wasn't the gear."

Erwin nods, drumming his fingers restlessly on his thigh, frowning into the crowd of tired and injured soldiers streaming out of the stables. "Did he use it at all?"

"A bit, when there were too many Titans in one place." Even with his glasses Roy doesn't like the gear, but staying on the ground among all those mindlessly stomping feet would have been idiotic and Roy is no idiot. "He was fine. Didn't kill any Titans when he was up in the air, but he killed fourteen when he was on the ground, so …"

Erwin actually blinks at that. His eyes flick to where Moblit is tending to Roy, seeing if Roy can walk. It doesn't seem like Roy can. "Fourteen?"

"Yeah." Levi hopes he doesn't sound quite as smug as he feels. "He'd have taken out more if there hadn't been so many of us in the air. We kept fucking up his lines of sight."

Erwin lets out a long slow puff of air, a measured bleeding off of tension. "Good," he says succinctly. "That's good. It'll help. Command is up my ass about him. Fourteen, really?"

"Really."

Erwin nods, seemingly satisfied. "So, we lost six people. What did we find out?"

Levi will have a full report on Erwin's desk in the morning, and all he really wants to do at the moment is go bathe off the stink of the expedition, but Erwin needs to know there was valued gained for the lives lost. Levi is not one to ever look on the bright side — sometimes he thinks he's constitutionally incapable of it — but he can be factual and analytical, and he knows what Erwin wants to hear.

What they got from the expedition was the discovery of another destroyed town with no corpses, homes trampled and lives wiped from existence. They'd pilfered medical supplies from the wreckage of the town apothecary, and gathered what usable household items they could transport: linens that had not surrendered to moths and mold, some metal farming implements, a small stock of wine stored in vats in an underground cellar.

How much coin, Erwin wants to know, but Levi isn't sure. He'd been fighting Titans with Hange's group at the time. It'd been Mike's squad that had found the village. They'd met up later, Mike's horses laden with as much as they could carry; Mike's soldiers vacant-eyed and somber. Levi much preferred fighting Titans to salvaging graveyard villages.

Out of the corner of his eye, Levi sees Roy limping off in the direction of the infirmary, Moblit at one side and Armin the other. Armin's been fussing over Roy since the second he realized Roy had been hurt. Roy's been tolerating it patiently, with far better grace than Levi. Levi kind of wants to toss Armin in a cesspit. He also kind of wants to be over there with Roy even though Roy is in perfectly good hands. Moblit's an idiot but he's not completely useless, and Armin would probably cut off his own ankle and give it to Roy if he thought it would help. Still, Levi's twitchy. He jams his hands into his pockets and forces himself to keep reporting to Erwin. Erwin already thinks Levi's too preoccupied with Roy. If nothing else, Levi doesn't want to prove the bastard right.

It's easier to focus once Roy has disappeared into the depth of the infirmary, especially once Hange and Mike join them. Mike gives a fuller accounting of what his squadron had recovered from the ruined village, and Hange delivers a somewhat scathing assessment of the newest recruits and their ability on the gear, including some recruits in Levi's squad, which … wait, Levi thinks, what? _His_ recruits?

"My recruits are fucking fine with the gear. Your recruits were the ones who got their lines tangled up." That had been a near disaster, and the only reason Emmet and Inge aren't both dead is because Hange had swooped in and cut Emmet's primary lines before the two recruits could get tangled up further and eaten by the closest Titan.

"At least my recruits don't get their swords stuck in their holsters," Hange shoots back instantly.

Levi bristles, but Erwin holds up his hand before Levi can get in another word. "As entertaining as your ritual humiliation of each other's squadrons usually is, I have a headache. Go start inventorying what you brought back."

That's bullshit, Levi thinks sourly. They brought back the same kind of crap they always bring back from every deserted town they come across. If there had been anything especially interesting in this village, they would have already told Erwin about it. It's not that coins and cloth and farming implements are useless, it's just that Levi could probably pull the inventory from any of a half dozen previous expeditions and it'd be roughly accurate. But Erwin's asking them to do this pointless chore now because he knows that otherwise Levi would be headed straight to the infirmary to check on Roy. Erwin asked Levi yesterday if he could be objective about Roy and Levi said he could; now Erwin wants Levi to prove it — to show, now that they are back behind the walls without the threat of Titans hanging over their head, that Levi can still put his duty to the Corps first. 

Fuck Erwin on general principles, but fine. Roy's injured, but not seriously. A sprained ankle is an inconvenience. Moblit and fawning Armin are perfectly capable of keeping Roy company in the infirmary and shepherding him back to his quarters afterward. Roy does not need Levi at his side for this. Levi knows this and Erwin does too.

So, this is a test for Levi but not a very big one. And that's interesting, maybe. Levi wonders if Erwin would have pulled this shit if Roy had been more seriously injured, or if Erwin was only willing to take the risk of seriously pissing Levi off when he was reasonably certain of the outcome. Like maybe Erwin only wanted to make sure that Levi's priorities haven't been _completely_ screwed, but he's okay if they're a _little_ screwed.

Well, Levi's priorities are perfectly fine, and fuck Erwin anyway for even wondering about it. Levi considers telling Erwin this but decides not to. Erwin likes to think he's smarter than Levi, and that Levi is too dull-witted to catch on to all the manipulative shit Erwin pulls. If Levi tells Erwin off now, it will be immensely satisfying for a few minutes, but then next time Erwin will be even more manipulative and Levi just doesn't want to deal with that shit.

So, all he says is, "Fine," and he makes sure that the level of irritation in his voice is no more than what's usually there whenever Erwin asks him to do anything. Because Levi respects Erwin, he really does, but he gets irritated every time Erwin asks him to do something, because Erwin is always a little too Erwin and Levi is always 100% Levi, and that's just the way it has always been between them and probably will always be.

"Good." Erwin nods tersely and spins on his heel, striding off towards his office with long, measured steps. He doesn't have a headache. His stump is bothering him and he's too proud to say it. Jackass.

Levi frowns after Erwin for a moment, then transfers his scowl to Hange on general principal.

Hange is unperturbed by Erwin's jackassery and Levi's ire. "Roy did well today. But we should have been training him with other people all this time, to get him used to them and to get them used to him."

Levi grunts and starts heading for the storeroom. Roy has been able to use the gear without vomiting for a single week. There had been no time for him to train with other people.

"But just imagine," Hange adds, eyes glinting, "just imagine what he's going to be able to _do."_

Mike nods thoughtfully as they cross the yard. "With you and Roy together … how many Titans did you kill today, anyway?"

Levi shrugs. "Fifteen? Twenty? I wasn't counting." It was 23. He always counts.

Mike whistles. "And he killed fourteen from the ground? Fuck, what the hell could stand against the two of you?"

The Colossal Titan, Levi thinks. The Armored Titan, probably. But maybe, maybe those are the only two. Levi's never come across a Titan that could move faster than Levi does himself, and he doesn't think even the abnormals could withstand a direct burst of Roy's flame to the nape.

"We'll have to change our training regimen," Hange says. "Get Roy on the field with lots of other people, develop some kind of system so everyone stays out of his way. He's fast with his fire; he doesn't need a big window of opportunity."

Levi grunts. "You're probably going to have to wait for that until he can walk again."

Hange doesn't look particularly fazed, but starts theorizing how to specialize the gear for Roy so he will be able to transmute in mid-air. _Good luck with that,_ Levi thinks skeptically.

The storeroom is a muddy, dusty disaster, filled with mounds of crap retrieved from previous expeditions. Levi hates this building, filled with the picked-over remnants of dead people's lives, most of which is not immediately useful but that no one wants to throw away. The items Mike's team had retrieved today are in four enormous piles by the door. A garden hoe lies precariously on the top of the closest pile, tines covered in dried soil, the handle weathered and dull brown but still intact and serviceable. Back when he'd lived in the Underground, after Kenny had left him on his own, Levi would have killed for a tool like that, solid useable metal and sturdy wood. He probably _had_ killed for less.

"Let's get started," he says brusquely.

Erwin appears after an hour, possibly to assist with the cataloging, probably just to check if Levi has restrained himself from running off to the infirmary to check on Roy. Some of the tightness is gone from his expression; Levi hopes that means Erwin took some of his pain medication, for Erwin's sake and also for Levi's own: Erwin's much easier to deal with when he's a little bit loopy.

Moblit comes by eventually to report from the infirmary: other than the soldiers who'd been killed on the expedition itself, no one has any life-threatening injuries. Hannah needed ten stitches to close a gash on her stomach, Thomas has a concussion and needs to stay in the infirmary overnight, and Roy's going to be on crutches for a few days while his ankle heals, but it's not broken — although Jansen had a few choice words to say about Roy having run around on it after the initial injury.

"He's back in his quarters," Moblit says as he's leaving. "They gave him some pills and by the time we got him back to his room he was already half asleep." He snorts, though his expression is fond. "Lightweight."

Levi has seen Roy drink his way through an entire bottle of wine and still light a candle with a snap of his finger at 20 paces. He is anything but a lightweight. But it had been a hell of a day and Roy had been in a lot of pain, and he used a fuck-ton of alchemy too. Levi's still not exactly sure why that's tiring but it definitely _is_. Plus, Roy had to use the gear a few times and that makes him anxious, which is also tiring …

Levi snaps out of his head with a start to find Erwin staring at him, one eyebrow raised. Levi scowls at him and mutters a sulky 'thanks' to Moblit, then returns to sorting scraps of cloth. Fuck Erwin; Levi's priorities are fucking _fine_.

By dinnertime they have catalogued most of what Mike's team retrieved from the village and Hange has liberated a few bottles of wine for the evening bacchanalia. Erwin grudgingly agrees they can leave the last few sacks of salvage for tomorrow. It's late and even Hange is getting cranky, plus Levi really, really wants to bathe.

"Give this to Roy," Hange says, after squinting at one particular bottle and running a finger lightly over the faded, peeling label. "He'll appreciate it."

Levi takes the bottle tentatively. Roy has amassed a truly impressive collection of alcohol in his short time here and runs through it a little faster than Levi deems healthy, but Levi supposes everyone has their own coping mechanisms, and it's not for him to deny Roy his. Levi's not really one to talk anyway; his collection of cleaning products would put any well-stocked general store to shame.

"Written reports tomorrow morning," Erwin reminds them, and it is not Levi's imagination that Erwin is eying him particularly. Levi's hand twitches involuntarily but he shoves it into his pocket before he accidentally makes a rude gesture and just says, "Yeah, all right," which is just insubordinate enough to make Erwin's eyebrow tic but not enough to earn him a frown. Levi heads first to his quarters to finally wash up and change clothes. Both of his uniforms are dirty so he's forced to make do with casual clothing; if he happens to put on the pullover he knows is Roy's favorite, that's nobody's business.

Next stop is the mess hall to grab some food, things he can easily transport in a bag: cheese and bread and some vegetable pies still warm from the oven, plus something sweet to finish. Finally, Levi heads to Roy's quarters, the bag of food in one hand and the bottle of wine in the other, and knocks on the door with one bruised knuckle.

"… 's open," he hears after a beat. Roy sounds a little groggy but definitely awake, and just hearing his voice is enough to dissipate a small, ornery knot of anxiety in Levi's chest.

"Hi," Levi says, when he's successfully wrangled the doorknob into submission even with both hands full. He kicks the door shut behind him. The room is in its usual state of disrepair: papers everywhere, books spreadeagled on every surface, empty wine bottles peeking out from under the bed, dirty clothing in a heap on the floor next to a perfectly serviceable yet mostly empty hamper. Roy may be the messiest person Levi has ever met. It is unfathomable to Levi sometimes that they are sleeping together (though to be fair, that usually happens in Levi's quarters), because just being in this room when it is like this — which is almost all of the time — makes Levi anxious.

Levi stiffens his spine so he doesn't start shuddering and fixes his gaze on Roy, ignoring the mess all around him. "How are you feeling?"

Roy is sitting at his desk, twisted around to face the door, with a notebook open in front of him and a half empty glass of wine in his hand. His much-loathed glasses are dangling from the back of his chair, where Roy doesn't have to see them. His ankle is wrapped and propped up on a pillow on the bed, next to his discarded uniform jacket. The bandage covers about half his foot. Levi's attention is drawn to Roy's slim, elegant toes peeking out the top. He does not have a toe fetish, but he finds that he kind of wants to kiss them anyway. Which is ridiculous. Probably the last thing Roy wants at the moment is anybody touching any part of his foot, and even if he did, Levi wouldn't do it, because he doesn't do things like kissing people's toes. Even if he has been possessed of a strange urge to do it.

Roy glances at his own foot as if he can tell that Levi's having inappropriate thoughts about kissing it, then shrugs. "I feel," he says slowly, "not great. The medicine was good when I, when I taked it … tch, took it. It was good then. But now it's not … it doesn't help so much now. But it … the hurt is not so very bad. I have had worse."

Levi thinks of the garish scars on Roy's abdomen and the knotted lumps of flesh on his hands. A sprained ankle is nothing on that scale. He knows that, but the sight of Roy's bandaged foot makes him agitated anyway. "Did Jansen give you extra medicine?"

"Mmm," Roy says, nodding at a small bottle on the table, filled nearly to the top with an amber liquid. "But the pain is not so bad, and I don't like …" He frowns. "I think it's .. do you know opioid?"

Levi nods. "Same word."

"I don't like to take it," Roy says. "It is … it's too easy to … to want to take it all the days. In Amestris, there are people who … they take it and they take it. They can't stop. They. Their lives, all the days, they are only wanting to take it." He pokes at the little bottle with one finger, pushing it farther away. "If the pain is too much, I'll have some, but now it's not so bad."

That makes three times in the space of minute that Roy has said the pain is not so bad; Levi isn't sure which one of them Roy is trying to convince. Probably himself, give the way he reaches for his glass and swallows the rest of the wine in one gulp.

Jansen would probably have a fit if he knew Roy was guzzling wine, but Jansen overreacts to everything, and Levi trusts Roy to know his own limits, and the last dose of medicine was hours ago. "Here," Levi says, shoving the bottle of wine forward. "From Hange."

Roy peers at the label for a moment, then makes an indistinct appreciative noise of surprise as he sets the bottle down carefully on his desk. "It's a good … hmm, what is the word?" He thinks for a moment, then waves his hand a little sloppily. " _Tch_. It's good. I have had some of this before. Mike, he taked … _tch_ , I am always saying it wrong! … he _took_ me to a wine store in the town. We buy … no. We bought a bottle. It's expensive but we … we pay for it … what is _zusammen?_ When we both do it?"

" _Samen_ ," Levi says.

"Together," Roy repeats. "We pay … _tch_ , paid, I am forgetting the past tense every time today." He grunts irritably. "We _paid_ for it together and then we … what is … ah, share. We shared it. You were meeting with Erwin for all the day." He pauses, frowns. "For the whole day."

Levi is simultaneously impressed that Roy is correcting his own grammar while in pain and a little tipsy, and also vaguely irritated that Mike took Roy into town, though he's not sure whether he's irritated because Mike took Roy to buy more wine — something Roy seems to have no trouble acquiring while staying on base — or whether it's because Levi likes to be the only one who takes Roy to town. Levi is also irritated at the thought of Mike and Roy sharing some expensive wine without offering Levi any, even though Roy by this point knows Levi wouldn't truly appreciate even the most expensive wine. All Levi tastes when he drinks wine is the alcohol. But still, an offer would have been nice, Levi thinks, then is appalled, because he knows he doesn't actually care about the wine, so that just means he's jealous. Of _Mike._

"I must thank Zoë," Roy continues, possibly oblivious to Levi's inner turmoil. He looks down at his foot a little grumpily and wriggles his toes. Levi tries not to stare. "Although I am … _wahrscheinlich_? … not walking tomorrow."

" _Waarschijnlijk_ ," Levi says, correcting the pronunciation only slightly. "And there is no 'probably' about it."

Roy's gaze flits over to the pair of crutches leaning against the corner. "If I have to—"

"You won't have to," Levi says firmly. "I'll bring you food. You can just rest."

Roy pouts. Actually pouts, puffing out his lower lip and everything. Levi might have called it adorable, if that were the sort of word he ever used. Roy crosses his own arms and leans back in his seat, looking mutinous. "I'm not good at resting."

This is at the least an exaggeration, if not an outright untruth. Roy is usually industrious but likes his lie-ins as much as anyone, maybe even more than most, especially if he thinks he's getting away with something. Levi doesn't think the issue is with resting, per se, but being forced into inactivity rather than choosing to be deliberately idle. He kindly doesn't call Roy on his bullshit; Roy is injured, after all. Instead, he says, "If you're desperate for something to do, you can go through your mountain of papers."

The word for mountain is apparently the same, or else it's one Roy's already learned. Roy looks guiltily at the stacks of papers littering the desk and — worse — the floor. "I told you," he says, "Riza says I'm the messiest person she knows."

Levi has no doubt this is true. Roy may be the messiest person anybody knows on any world. Levi is amazed again that they are sleeping together, no matter how sexually compatible they are. His dick, he supposes, doesn't share all of his compulsions. On balance, that is probably a good thing.

"If you clean up your desk," Levi says, "we can eat." He lifts the bag off the floor. "I brought dinner."

Roy doesn't look especially excited at the prospect, either because the pain or medicine or wine has dulled his appetite, or because he will have to clean his desk enough so that Levi will consider eating on it. Levi stands still and tries to look expectant, like it's a given that Roy will accede. Nagging is usually counterproductive when Roy's involved, Levi's learned, and trial and error have proved that neither begging nor making threats works much better. Roy's very difficult to manipulate; the best way Levi has found to do it is to not do it at all, which means acting like and believing that there is no manipulation going on whatsoever.

Levi sometimes thinks that Roy has caught on to this trick, because occasionally he squints his eyes at Levi and mutters something under his breath about Riza in a tone that says it is not a complimentary comparison. But this time, due again perhaps to the pain or the medicine or the wine, Roy simply sighs as if cleaning his desk is the worst possible thing in the world Levi could have asked of him, and starts stacking his books into a neat tower, one atop the other, spines and corners aligned because he knows that misaligned edges make Levi crazy. Roy closes his notebook and looks at the bed as if he's going to toss it there, but then glances at Levi and apparently comes to his senses. Roy places the notebook in his desk drawer instead, along with several loose sheets of paper and the half dozen writing implements scattered around the desktop. Dirty napkins go in the trash, and a few pieces of laundry — Levi does not even want to know what they are doing on the desk in the first place — get tossed over to the hamper. One grimy shirt lands on the floor, and Levi has to grit his teeth to keep from going over there and putting it away, but he's pretty sure if he does that Roy will never put anything in the hamper himself again.

The surface of the desk is now clean, possibly cleaner than it has been since the day Roy arrived, but still not clean enough for Levi. He dips a washcloth in the bucket of water Roy keeps for light washing and tosses it across the room after wringing it out. "Dust," he says succinctly.

Roy sighs, unbearably put upon, but wipes the desk down obediently. "I hope you got dessert," he sulks, as if only something sweet would make the five minutes of effort to clean his desk worth it.

"Brownies," Levi says. Big ones, even, because Nadia was serving and she knows how much Roy likes chocolate. Roy always greets Nadia by name and asks about her daughter. Nadia will do anything for Roy. Nadia is not alone in this sentiment.

Roy looks slightly mollified by the promise of a brownie, and scrubs the desktop with a little more effort. The desk does not end up clean to Levi's usual standards, but it is clean enough. Levi sets out the bread and the vegetable pies, along with two plates, some silverware and napkins.

There is only one chair in the room and Roy is sitting on it. The only other place for Levi to sit is the bed, though it will necessitate him climbing around Roy's foot. Levi doesn't mind sitting on the bed. It will give him a good vantage point for sneakily ogling Roy's toes. But he draws the line at sitting next to Roy's filthy uniform jacket. (His filthy uniform jacket is _on the bed_ , where he sleeps; sometimes Levi is dubious about Amestrian sanitary standards, if Roy is any kind of example thereof.)

Levi leans over Roy's leg to grab the jacket and hang it in the closet. The closet is only slightly neater than the rest of the room, shirts and pants and jackets hanging haphazardly together. Roy does not magically accumulate only wine, it seems. He also has more clothing than Levi, at least twice as much. Three uniforms altogether, somehow, plus several pairs of casual trousers, matching vests and what must be close to a dozen shirts, all in flattering cuts and colors. And then there is Roy's Amestrian uniform, pushed all the way to the side, the blue fabric bright and garish among the deeper earth tones of the rest of the clothing. Just looking at the uniform makes Levi's stomach flip uneasily; he can't imagine what it's like for Roy to see it every day, a tangible reminder of a home from which he's cut off.

Shutting the door firmly helps hide away the clutter and the uniform. Levi swivels back around and slips off his shoes to clamber up on the bed. He's careful to avoid Roy's ankle but he can't help jostling the mattress. Roy winces slightly and takes another sip of wine. He must have filled his glass again when Levi was busy in the closet.

"Sorry," Levi says, settling carefully into place.

Roy shrugs. "It's okay," he says. "It's my _schuld_."

Levi pauses in the middle of cutting into his vegetable pie. " _Fout_ ," he says. "And it is not your fault."

Roy makes a skeptical noise. He's ripping his bread carefully into two pieces like he's only going to eat half, even though he always ends up eating both. Levi wonders about the habit sometimes. It's the sort of thing Levi might have done after Kenny left him alone and he was fending for himself, when food was scarce and eating his fill on one day usually meant going hungry the next. Levi doesn't think Roy ever lived like that, but … well, he's not entirely sure, really. They have shared very little of their pasts with each other. This is deliberate on Levi's part. He can't tell whether it's deliberate on Roy's part too.

One piece of bread ends up on the side of Roy's plate. Roy bites into the other half and hums appreciatively. "I wasn't careful," he says, after he's chewed and swallowed. "I didn't watch the ground enough."

This is arguably true, but Roy is alive and has no permanent damage so Levi really can't get on his case for it. "Hange thinks if you'd used the gear more you wouldn't have hurt your ankle."

Roy takes a moment to parse that statement, cutting into the pie and waiting a moment for the steam to escape. "Maybe," he concedes eventually. "But if I use the gear, maybe I don't kill so many Titans." He takes a forkful of the pie and blows on it before popping it in his mouth. "Fourteen is not so few, I think," he says thoughtfully. "But how many did you kill?"

"Twenty-three." Levi doesn't bother pretending to Roy that he didn't count. He doesn't think Roy would believe him anyway.

Roy raises an eyebrow, then takes another bite of the vegetable pie, pulling his fork out from between pursed lips provocatively. At least Levi _thinks_ it's meant to be provocative. It's possible that Levi is a little easily provoked, when it comes to Roy. "Twenty-three," Roy murmurs, tapping the fork against his lips, and damn it, he is _definitely_ doing that on purpose. Roy grins then, sharp and appreciative. "I'll have to try harder next time."

That's another thing about Roy. He's competitive as fuck.

They dissect the fight against the Titans while they finish their dinner. Roy's version of the melee is interesting; the view from the ground is not one Levi often hears or considers. But Roy's thoughts on the battle are sharp and insightful; clearly his time in his military has included a lot of active combat. "There was a war," he says, when Levi asks him about it. He won't meet Levi's eyes. "It was a long time ago."

It couldn't have been that long ago; Roy's only 31 and Levi knows that Roy thinks the recruits in the Corps are several years too young to be here, which probably means that Roy himself didn't become a soldier until he was at least 18 or 19. But maybe that's a long time ago, to Roy. Levi doesn't press, because as soon as he'd mentioned it, Roy had gone tense and a little distant, and he'd poured himself another full glass of wine that he definitely didn't need.

Levi feels kind of shitty for having brought it up at all. To make up for it, he unwraps a brownie and slides it across the table. "Here," he says. "I hope you saved some room."

Roy stares at the brownie for a moment without really seeing it, but then his eyes focus and his expression lightens. "There is no day so bad that chocolate can't make it better," he says, splitting the brownie in half like the bread, then breaking off a corner and popping it in his mouth. "Maes told me this, when we were in school."

Roy must have had more wine than Levi realized if he is bringing up Maes. Roy hardly ever talks about him, and only ever when he's depressed or drunk or half asleep. Levi is naturally curious (he hopes it's natural, at least) but he doesn't want to press. Talking about Amestris can make Roy spiral into a fit of depression, and talking about Maes is even worse: it usually sends Roy straight for the wine bottle. Levi doesn't ask about Maes or any of Roy's family and friends because he never wants to be the one to put that tight, sad expression on Roy's face.

Roy doesn't look especially depressed at the moment though, just a little melancholy, methodically picking apart the brownie into bite-sized pieces and examining each one as though it contains some kind of secret treasure.

"What are you looking for?" Levi finally asks, after Roy has demolished the first half of the brownie and is moving on to the second half, as expected, no matter how much he pretends he won't eat the whole thing.

Roy blinks, and looks down at the piece of brownie in befuddlement. "I'm not … oh." He laughs then, a little sheepishly. "Some of the times, they have nuts."

Levi blinks back. "You don't like nuts?" He's sure he's seen Roy eat nuts before. They are a cheap source of protein, readily available and easy to store. Surely, he'd have noticed by now if Roy didn't like nuts.

"Nuts are fine," Roy says, and oh, he's _blushing._ "I only don't … they shouldn't be in cookies and cakes. They're too … hmm, _knusprig_? They're loud and hard when you bite them."

"Crunchy," Levi supposes.

"Crunchy. Brownies shouldn't be crunchy."

Levi doesn't have much of an opinion on whether brownies should be crunchy or not. He rarely eats sweets at all, but when he does, he usually chooses fruit over chocolate. He unwraps his own brownie and peers at it carefully, then takes a small bite. "I don't think there are any nuts."

"Some of the times they're hiding."

Roy is grinning at him, and Levi can't help but chuckle a little bit, which is a thing he's noticed he's doing more and more often. It makes him feel self-conscious and so he hides it by taking another bite of brownie. It's very rich and very sweet. Delicious, even. Maes might have been right about chocolate after all.

Half of a brownie is more than enough for Levi, and he pushes the rest across the desk to Roy, who has finished his own and is methodically dabbing up each stray crumb with a damp fingertip. "Here," he says. "Take it."

Roy looks torn. On the one hand, he has eaten an entire brownie, and though he loves sweets he is very careful about how much of them he eats, irrationally worried about his trim waistline, though perhaps it's the worrying that lets him stay so slim. On the other hand, it's been a stressful day, and Roy is fairly predictable about giving in to his vices when he's stressed. That is, after all, how they ended up sleeping together in the first place.

"Nadia would be upset if you throw it out," Levi wheedles.

Roy stops in the middle of reaching for the brownie and narrows his eyes at Levi.

Wheedling was a mistake. Levi should have known better. "I'm not trying to trick you. Eat it or don't eat it. I don't care. Whatever makes you happy."

Roy is still suspicious, but in the end he eats the second half, and Levi has to busy himself cleaning up the trash from dinner to avoid grinning like a sap at the way Roy picks through the brownie looking for stray nuts, of which there are exactly none, but Roy examines every piece anyway.

When all the mess is cleared away, Roy leans back in his chair, sipping lazily at his wine. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. "I don't think I will make it to the lounge tonight," he says. He's a little drunk and a lot tired, so his diction is kind of sloppy. He peels an eye open with what looks like effort. "You will have to say sorry for me to Moblit."

"The fuck," Levi says. "He didn't actually expect you to come out tonight, did he?"

Roy shrugs halfheartedly. "I don't know if he did for true or not. But he said if I come I should get him a woman for the night. He thinks I'm better at it than he is."

Roy's eyes are still closed so he can't see the incredulous look Levi is giving him. There's no doubt that Roy is better at picking people up than Moblit is. A rock would be better at picking people up than Moblit. Roy is at the opposite end of the spectrum, so far away it's like they are not on the same spectrum at all. Roy attracts people just by existing in the same space as them. When he puts in any effort he is irresistible. For fuck's sake, Roy had picked up _Levi_. But Levi's not going to let Roy work as Moblit's pimp.

"It's not your job to get Moblit a woman," Levi says shortly.

"He says if I don't, he won't ever get one."

Levi snorts. "He'll find someone. It's an expedition night. No one goes home alone."

Roy hums, then cracks open first one eye, then the other, gazing at Levi thoughtfully. "Is that why … Moblit told me you never went to the lounge, before."

"I didn't."

Roy gazes at him for a little while, sipping at his wine, brow slightly wrinkled. "Then why did you, that night I came here?"

Levi shrugs and sits back against the wall, stretching out his legs so they are parallel to Roy's injured one, Levi's ankles near Roy's thigh, Levi's feet hanging just off the edge of the bed. "You wanted wine."

"I did," Roy agrees. He takes another sip of the glass he's holding, then swirls the remaining liquid contemplatively. "But you didn't need to stay with me. You didn't need to—" Fuck me, he doesn't say, but it's what he means, as if that had been some sort of chore or obligation rather than one of the best nights of Levi's life. Levi still flushes when he remembers it.

Levi snorts in lieu of saying anything to bolster Roy's already healthy ego. "You know I don't do anything I don't want to do."

"Mmm." Another sip of wine. The glass is nearly empty now. Roy sprawls in his chair, liquor-loose and languid, body open and inviting. Levi's fingers itch with the urge to touch, but he contents himself with resting a hand on Roy's leg, feeling the warmth seep through the fabric of Roy's trousers. Roy is injured, he tells himself sternly.

"I'm not so badly hurt," Roy murmurs, shifting in his seat, voice and body smooth and liquid like warm syrup. "If you are worried. I won't break."

That's yet another thing about Roy. He's fucking insatiable.

Levi shouldn't be as surprised as he is. Levi shouldn't be surprised at _all_. Even injured, Roy has something of a one-track mind, and it is an expedition night, after all. Still. "I don't want to hurt you," Levi protests.

A grin slips across Roy's face, slow and sly. "Then you will have to be very careful."

Levi, when he gives in, is very careful.

Roy, on the other hand, is not quite careful enough, and jostles his own ankle more times than Levi feels is reasonable.

Levi makes up for it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy survived his first expedition, almost unscathed! Thank goodness Levi is around to bring him chocolate.
> 
> I am so excited about the next chapter. Maybe I'll get some more artwork ready for that one, if I can find something appropriate. :)
> 
> Comments = love!


	10. Crucifixion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Roy flips out. It's kind of Levi's fault.
> 
> " _Bleib zuruck_ ," Roy growls, 'stay back' or 'get away' or some other kind of warning. His eyes are wild but focused on the threat, though Levi doesn't think Roy knows the threat is _him_ , exactly.
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy isn't a creature of grand gestures, but that's okay because Levi isn't one either and would hate to be the recipient of any. It's in the little things that Roy puts meaning and it's in the little things that Levi finds it.
> 
> (Artwork at the end. I implore you not to look at it too closely. Just kind of squint at it from a distance, okay?)

Days pass, slipping slowly into weeks that drift into months. The Scouts go on another expedition and Roy comes with them again. He has been practicing his horse-riding and is much better at it now; he can even launch from horseback if he has to, though he doesn't love doing that. Not that he loves using the ODM gear ever. He still spends more time on the ground when they're fighting than Levi's comfortable with, but it's hard to argue with the results: Roy kills almost as many Titans as Levi and comes back with not so much as a scratch, just worked up and restless from battle.

They go to the officers' lounge after dinner because Roy wants to, and then when Roy's had enough wine to settle his nerves they go back to Levi's quarters because Levi wants to. Roy has been with the Corps for four months, and Roy and Levi spend more nights together than they spend apart, but Levi still isn't tired of it yet. He's starting to think he might never get tired of it, of waking up to find Roy lying next to him, frowning prettily in his sleep.

That will be tomorrow, though. Tonight, right now, neither of them is sleeping. Sleep is just about the farthest thing from Levi's mind.

Despite what some people might have thought, despite what people have been whispering behind his back for years, Levi isn't sexually inexperienced. He hasn't had very many lovers, true, but that's only because he'd met Farlan when they were both young, and Levi had fallen fast and hard. Farlan had been an enthusiastic lover, generous and sometimes a little quirky, and Levi had loved every minute they'd been together. Then Isabel had arrived and she'd joined them in bed sometimes — not often, not regularly, but sometimes after a particularly good day, when they'd all been so hyped and giddy and flying on adrenaline that they could hardly keep their hands to themselves, and sex had been the only way to bring their bodies back down to earth, even if fitting three people onto Levi's tiny bed had sometimes required tricky contortions and an absolute lack of shame.

Still, Farlan and Isabel had liked what they'd liked in bed and hadn't been especially adventurous beyond what they were used to, but it had always been so pleasurable there hadn't any reason for Levi to seek out other partners. Sex is different with Roy. What Roy likes seems to vary by the day or even the minute, and often what he likes best is whatever Levi wants most at the moment.

Since Roy joined the Corps, Levi finds himself more and more in control of his Ackerman abilities, and he wonders sometimes if it isn't all the sex he's suddenly having, because not much else about his life has changed. If this is true, it's a secret he's taking to his grave. But Roy pushes him so hard, brings him to the heights again and again; he feels the energy sparking under his skin like he's in a fight for his life and Roy senses it somehow and just _attacks_ , like he could absorb that energy if only he could merge their bodies into one, bring them closer than skin to skin and breath to breath. Roy kisses Levi like there isn't enough air for a single breath between them and Levi moans into his mouth like some sort of animal and Roy comes absolutely undone, and that just makes the sparks in Levi's nerves flare brighter.

Turning it on now takes hardly any effort at all, though Levi keeps that to himself too; it shouldn't much matter to anyone else if Levi can make the power flow even when he's not fighting Titans, because the only other time he ever uses it is in bed with Roy.

He's using it now, riding Roy, knees clenched tight around Roy's sweat-slicked waist, bracing himself with his palms flat on Roy's chest, grinding back and forth. Roy is fire beneath him, eyes hot and wild with lust. The scent of sex is so thick in the air it's almost palpable, heady and musty; with every breath the smell grows more intoxicating. Levi pushes forward and back, panting. He scrabbles for purchase on Roy's chest, but it's hard to keep his balance when Roy is bucking underneath him like a horse that hadn't been properly broken.

Levi leans farther forward and grips Roy's wrists, pulls his arms out to the side, fights to hold him down, uses all his weight and all his power, and Roy …

… goes berserk.

There isn't any other way to describe it, Levi thinks, but only later, after all the furniture has been put to right and everyone has left and Roy is lucid and talking again. At the moment it happens, Levi has only time to think, "Oh fuck," before Roy explodes like a land mine.

Levi has known for a while that there is more to Roy than flame alchemy. The Survey Corps doesn't only train its soldiers in use of ODM gear; everyone goes through hand-to-hand combat training and Erwin would not excuse Roy from this requirement either, even though Levi thought it was a waste of everybody's effort and time. If Roy is close enough to an enemy to fight, he'll be close enough to incinerate them.

But Erwin had insisted and Roy hadn't objected, and Levi had been only slightly taken aback when he'd realized that Roy is perfectly competent in martial arts. More than competent, truth be told; Roy spars like someone who has spent an alarming amount of time learning the nastiest, most efficient ways to take someone down.

"I had a very good teacher," was all Roy had said, that first time. "You're very like him, Levi." And then he'd grinned at some private joke and twisted lithely around and knocked Moblit onto his ass for the third time in a row, much to Moblit's dismay and Hange's delight.

It's not so delightful now, Levi thinks, scrabbling at Roy's fingers where they are gripped around his throat. He isn't worried for his own safety. He can take down Titans; he can certainly take down Roy, even in the midst of some strange fit. He just isn't sure he can do it without hurting Roy.

"Roy," he gasps, "stop it, it's me, it's Levi."

But his words don't seem to penetrate whatever fugue Roy is lost in; Roy just squeezes his neck tighter, swearing and snarling.

Levi's ears are ringing from where Roy had punched him when Levi had grabbed his wrists. It's Levi's own damn fault for reacting too slowly; Kenny would never let him live it down if he knew. His head is starting to pound for lack of air, so he pushes Roy back just a bit, but it turns out that getting choked leaves him ill-equipped to judge his own strength. Roy goes flying across the room and crashes into the dresser. Drawers spill open, clothing tumbles haphazardly to the ground, and the mirror Levi has never gotten around to properly securing to the wall comes crashing down and shatters, sending glass flying everywhere.

Then Roy does something with his hands that Levi can't quite see, and a goddamn spear GROWS OUT OF THE DRESSER. "What the _fuck_ ," Levi says, staring.

The door to the bedroom flies open and Mike bursts in, half-dressed and sword brandished. Roy swivels around and growls something, then slaps his hands together and slams them to the ground. A strange, unearthly light flares, and a series of spikes shoots up from the floor between Roy and Mike, jagged and vicious.

"The _fuck_ ," Mike says and jerks back, startled. Behind him there is a crash and a clatter. Someone else is in Levi's living room: Mike isn't alone, fuck, how many people are in here? But Levi can't worry about that now, not when Roy has already kicked the bottom of the spear to break it off from the dresser — seriously, _what the fuck_? — and is brandishing it like he has every intention of throwing it at Levi's head.

Levi takes a quick look around for Roy's gloves but doesn't see them, so they are probably safely tucked away in the nightstand, thank fuck; Levi is still unconcerned about his ability to defend himself from any physical attack, but if Roy gets off a burst of flame, Levi will be dead before he can even think about dodging.

" _Bleib zuruck_ ," Roy growls, 'stay back' or 'get away' or some other kind of warning. His eyes are wild but focused on the threat, though Levi doesn't think Roy knows the threat is _him_ , exactly.

"Roy," Levi says calmly, hands up, palms facing front. "You're safe. Put down the spear, all right? You're safe. Everything's fine."

Roy snarls at him again. Naked, feral, brandishing a spear, he looks like the incarnation of primitive man, violent and uncivilized.

Behind the barrier, Levi can see Mike prodding cautiously at the floor-spikes with his sword. Mike turns his head and said something to whoever is standing behind him; Levi can't hear what it is but Moblit skids into the room a second later, brandishing a tranquilizer gun. Moblit's eyes go very wide when he sees the spikes coming out of the floor and his grip on the tranq gun tightens as he swings the muzzle around to point unerringly at Roy.

Fuck, Levi thinks, if Roy sees them aiming a gun at him, it is not going to end well for anybody. "Get out," Levi says, pitching his voice loud enough to carry but not so loud as a yell. "I've got everything under control."

Mike throws him a doubtful look.

"Get the fuck _out_ ," Levi spits, glaring.

Moblit looks like he wants to argue, but Mike is smart enough to know better. He backs out of the bedroom, tugging a reluctant Moblit after him and leaving Levi alone with Roy. "Hey, Roy," Levi says evenly. "Why don't you give me the spear? You won't need it. I'm not going to hurt you." He stays perfectly still and perfectly calm, forcing his breaths to come out steady and unhurried.

Roy is still tense and wild, but he doesn't move. A minute of complete silence passes slowly while Levi focuses on his breathing and tries to look harmless.

After several more minutes, some kind of awareness starts seeping back into Roy's eyes. He blinks and looks around the room, eyes flitting past Levi to land on the spikes, then blinks again and looks down at the spear in his hands. "Oh," he says, very quietly, and drops the spear to the ground. It lands with a thunk. He groans and grinds the palms of his hands into his eyes, hard. " _Scheisse_."

Levi takes one cautious step forward. "Are you all right now?"

Roy drops his hands with a sigh. "I … yes, I … I am … I'm fine." He doesn't look fine. He looks kind of shell-shocked. He looks around the room again, more clinically, something forlorn and resigned in his gaze. " _Scheisse_ ," he says again. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

Levi is quiet for a minute, watching Roy carefully. Roy won't meet his eyes. "You tell me."

Roy breathes in, deep and unsteady. "I don't ..." he says. "I don't remember. We … we were in bed. Everything was fine, it was good, and then … and then I don't know what …"

"You went a little crazy," Levi says. And grew spikes out of the floor, he doesn't say. And a spear out of my dresser. A spear. What the actual fuck. "I don't think you knew where you were."

Roy is hunting for his clothing. He finds a shirt and his underwear and starts pulling them on with rough, jerky movements. "I was _verwirrt_ ," he says.

" _Verward_ ," Levi corrects.

Roy nods. "Confused. I thought I was … that you were …" He sighs again and sinks down onto the bed, running his right thumb nervously over the scar on his left palm, tracing the outline of the pink, bubbled skin, pushing down into the ruined flesh like it might disappear if he massages it hard enough. "Do I ever tell you how I get these?" he asks, finally.

Levi remembers the first time he saw the scars up close, how he thought Roy might have been crucified. And Levi had just held him down, stretched out his arms and held him down like it was nothing. Levi had used his Ackerman strength to pin Roy to the bed because he hadn't thought, he'd never even considered ... No wonder Roy had panicked. This is what Levi does. He hurts people because he is reckless and careless and he never goddamn thinks before he acts. "No," he says, feeling vaguely nauseated. He clears his throat. "No, you haven't."

Roy nods but doesn't say anything, just stays on the bed rubbing at the thick ropy scar tissue. Levi takes the chance to retrieve his clothing from where it is folded neatly on the chair across the room. He pulls on his underwear – shirt and briefs both – and sits down on the bed next to Roy, leaving a little gap between them, close enough to bridge the distance without moving if Roy looks like he wants the contact, but not so close as to make Roy feel hemmed in. Roy is skittish about touch sometimes, and right now he looks like he would prefer a little extra space.

"I don't need to know," Levi says into the silence. "You don't have to tell me if it's too hard to talk about."

Roy breathes out a soft huff of something that in another life might have been a laugh, if they weren't sitting in the wreckage of Levi's bedroom, with spikes in the floor and shattered glass everywhere. "It isn't so hard to talk about as it is to live it." But he still doesn't seem to know where to start, just keeps kneading his palms round and round. "I didn't tell many people," he says eventually, staring at his hands. "Haven't told, I mean. Here, everyone knows about Titans, but in Amestris, very few people know about the homunculi. But it isn't a … what is _geheimnis_? Something you can't tell other people?"

" _Geheim_ ," Levi says. "Almost the same."

"It's not a secret," Roy says. "But nobody will believe it if I tell them. Not if they don't see it with their own eyes. Even if they see it, they may not believe." He breathes once, shakily. "Bradley, he was our leader. Not king, but like a king. He was a bad man. But not a man in true. He was a homunculus. A bad homunculus. He … he's the one who did this."

Roy falls quiet again, sits still and pale and shaking slightly. Levi thinks he doesn't want to hear any more. A horrific injury delivered by a horrific monster can't have been anything but horrifically traumatizing. The ghoulish particulars aren't important. But then he thinks that, no matter how much he'd really rather not hear what Roy has to say, maybe Roy needs to tell him. Maybe it's important that Roy gets the chance to tell the story to someone who will believe him. Levi reaches out, placing his hand on top of Roy's, feels Roy's fingers trembling beneath his own. "Tell me what happened."

With a sigh, Roy does.

* * *

A little while later, tired and gutted, Levi fishes out a clean uniform from his closet. Erwin is waiting in his living room. If Levi has to face Erwin after midnight, it's better to be dressed. He exits the bedroom and motions for Moblit and Mike to go in and keep an eye on Roy. Not that he thinks Roy is a danger anymore, but. Well. It never hurts to be too careful, and he doesn't think leaving Roy alone would be good for him anyway.

"What happened?" Erwin asks. He's sitting at Levi's table, sipping a cup of something that is probably Levi's tea from one of Levi's tea cups. Levi would be pissed but he's too tired. Erwin is in his pajamas, pale blue and patched. His hair is mussed and his face is creased. He'd been sleeping before all this happened. Levi feels briefly guilty. Erwin is a prick but he doesn't get enough rest, and unlike Levi he really needs it. The pain from the arm he'd lost wears him down, even if he'll never admit it.

"Titan-sickness, I think," Levi says, pulling out the chair across from Erwin and collapsing into it with a groan. Erwin pushes a second tea cup across the table to him and Levi takes a sip gratefully. The tea is not warm enough and Erwin didn't put in any milk or sugar, but it's still soothing, and Levi needs to be soothed.

Erwin frowns. "Titan-sickness. During sex?"

Levi runs his fingers around the rim of his tea cup. Erwin, unlike others, would not ever ask such a question out of prurient curiosity. "I pinned him down," Levi says evenly. "At the wrists. He flipped out and attacked me."

"He might not like being restrained," Erwin concedes, still frowning. "But neither do a lot of people. That's not Titan-sickness."

Levi considers how much he should say. Roy had done nothing wrong; he had nothing to be ashamed of, but this Bradley creature had made him feel weak and vulnerable, and maybe it is not Levi's place to tell that story. "You've seen the scars on his hands."

Erwin nods. Everyone has seen the scars. Until a few minutes ago, Roy has never spoken about them. There's been speculation, of course, but no one has ever come out and asked, not even Hange, who generally has no concept of privacy whatsoever. With Roy's shaky recitation still ringing in his ears, Levi knows now exactly what had happened, but kind of wishes he didn't. Speculating to himself that Roy might have been crucified is very different from hearing Roy explain that he actually was.

"Someone pinned him," Levi says. "Stabbed him through the hands to do it. They pinned him to the ground _through his_ _hands_ , Erwin. And then they forced him do some kind of transmutation that's forbidden." 'Human transmutation' is what Roy had actually said. The expression on his face when he'd said it had been nauseated and haunted, and Levi had immediately resolved never to ask exactly what human transmutation actually was. "Then some more really bad shit happened, magic kind of stuff. I don't really … he could hardly bring himself to talk about it. I think that's when he lost his eyesight." Something else that had happened to Roy that Levi doesn't really understand. Levi shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't a Titan who did it to him but I think it's Titan-sickness all the same."

Erwin swears under his breath, quiet words that are fierce and foul. He drums his fingers on the table, the right sleeve of his pajamas hanging limply at his side. Levi makes sure he isn't staring. It's easier when Erwin's in uniform and his empty sleeve is neatly pinned up and out of the way. "Is he safe?"

Levi takes a sip of his tea before answering. "He's lucid."

"That's not what I asked."

Levi shrugs. "Don't know what else you mean."

Erwin scowls and rubs his forehead, taking a deep breath before speaking with slow, careful words. Precise. Deliberate. "Is it safe to keep him here with us?"

"Fuck you," Levi says, disgusted. "If we sidelined every soldier with Titan-sickness, we'd lose half our force. Every goddamn soldier who's ever seen a Titan's teeth up close."

"Every goddamn soldier can't do alchemy. Damn it, Levi. There are _spikes_ coming out of the fucking floor of your bedroom."

"Yeah, well, I screwed up. He's said things before. The scars are still fucking healing; I should have guessed that holding him down like that might set him off. I won't make that mistake again."

Erwin huffs out a breath of air and falls silent, staring at the window. The room is lit and the night outside is inky black, so all there is to see in the glass is Erwin's own reflection, pale and drawn and exhausted. Levi wonders what Erwin sees when he looks at himself.

"That's just it," Erwin says wearily. "You can't know what's going to set someone off. Sometimes you can't even guess. We don't know this place he comes from. We don't know what he's lived through."

"A lot of really bad shit," Levi says, "but no worse than the rest of us. I slept in the bed next to my mother's rotting corpse for a week. You got your father killed. Those Shiganshina kids are all fucked up from the crap they lived through. Bad shit happens to everyone."

"And I repeat," Erwin says, "not everyone can do alchemy."

"Not everyone can turn into a Titan," Levi says. "If Jaeger loses it, we'll be down half our number before we take him out." And if he, Levi, loses it, they'll be down more. That's not Levi being arrogant. That's just reality. Kenny taught him how to kill. His Ackerman blood gives him the power to do it. He has nightmares about it sometimes, on those rare occasions he sleeps deeply enough to dream.

"Hange said he could transmute more than gas," Erwin says eventually, dragging his gaze back from the window. "I never really considered what that might mean. We all were so focused on his abilities with fire."

Levi had never considered it either. Roy had escaped his cell the day he'd arrived; for the longest time Levi had assumed Roy had somehow burned his way out, but Hange had corrected him some time later, explaining that Roy had just transmuted a hole in the wall and walked out. Still, Levi had never assumed that transmuting stone could be an offensive skill, never thought it could be something as strong as flame alchemy, if wielded right. He won't make that mistake again. He wonders what else Roy can transmute, if there's any substance Roy can't bend to his will. If there are any limits at all to what he can do.

"He's too powerful," Erwin says, voice barely loud enough to carry across the short distance between them. Levi's not sure Erwin knows he said it out loud. "Command's just going to want him more when they find out."

"Then don't tell them," Levi says, but he knows that's hopeless. Command will know by tomorrow morning, even if Erwin doesn't say a word. They may know already. Well, that's a problem for another day. Levi will worry about it after the spikes are gone from his floor. Speaking of which, "I'm going to go check on him," Levi says. "Put the tea cups in the sink when you leave." He pauses, then adds a grudging, "please."

Erwin raises an eyebrow at him, but nods, and Levi leaves him sitting pensively at Levi's table, staring back at his own reflection in the window.

In the bedroom, Moblit is crouched down on the floor next to Roy, apparently fascinated by the discolored patch where the spikes used to be. The tranquilizer gun is shoved into the waistband of his pajamas. "Why didn't you do them all at the same time? You created them all at once."

Roy looks up from the pile of glass shards they have swept into a glittering heap inside the broken frame of the mirror. "It's easy to make them, but not easy to put them back. If I do it too fast, it won't look well. Good. Well?"

"Good," Moblit says absently. He rubs at a dark mark on the floor, a strange ragged smear, like a scar. "What's this?"

Roy pulls a few more pieces of glass from under the bed, holding them carefully between his fingers so as not to cut himself. "It's from the transmutation energy. I could try to make it go away, but it's hard. I'll try later, but I want to fix this first."

Mike is sitting on the bed, cross-legged with his sword across his lap. He still hasn't bothered getting dressed beyond his boxers, and Levi is mildly repulsed to have Mike's almost-naked ass on his bed. There is no hope for it: he's going to have to wash the blanket.

"You can't really fix that, can you?" Moblit asks curiously. "It's in a thousand pieces."

Roy shrugs and sweeps quickly under the bead, depositing a small bit of glass dust onto the pile. "Two pieces or a thousand pieces, it's the same." He surveys the room critically. "I think that's all the glass, yes?"

"Looks like it," Moblit says.

"Wait," Mike says, leaning forward. "If transmuting leaving marks on the floor, how are you going to fix the mirror?"

Roy blinks at them, face slightly creased in confusion. He has a cut on his cheekbone, the area around which is starting to swell. It's from where he crashed when Levi threw him across the room. He's lucky his neck's not broken. Levi's stomach twists and he has to look away and take a breath to calm himself. Roy appears oblivious to Levi's guilt and turmoil. He's still puzzled by Mike's comment. "The mirror is glass," Roy answers, like it's obvious.

Mike and Moblit stare blankly at him.

"Glass is … I don't know the word. What's the word for water, and … and coffee and tea, and other wet things?"

"Liquid," Moblit answers.

Roy nods. "Liquid. Glass is easy, because it's liquid."

Mike coughs skeptically. "Glass is not a liquid."

Roy quirks an eyebrow at him, surprised. He gets that way sometimes when people don't know something he thinks is common knowledge. Levi forgets sometimes how far ahead of them Amestris is technologically. The difference is far more than just the alchemy, it's seemingly in all of the sciences. Amestris has more advanced weapons, communication devices, vehicles. So far, the only Levi's identified that's more advanced here than in Amestris is the ODM gear, which Roy swears has no analog on his world.

"It's not … what is … _ahm_ , is not exactly a liquid," Roy concedes. "But more like liquid than, hmm, _ein feststoff_. Like the floor," he says, tapping on it. "Or the dresser."

"If you say so," Moblit says dubiously.

"I do say so," Roy says. Then he stares down at the mirror, gaze flickering with a tinge of apprehension before it settles into resolve. "Well," he says, "It can't be worse than it is now." Decisively, he claps his hands together and thrusts them into the glass.

Light flares beneath Roy's fingers, and Levi twitches a bit as the transmutation energy activates. It makes his nerves prickle and itch, like there is something alive and moving beneath his skin. The discomfort lasts for only a second though. After that, it's already over, the light fading back to whatever strange place it came from. And there on the ground is Levi's mirror, good as new. Better than new, maybe – not only is the frame whole again, but the nicks and scratches in the wood have disappeared and the finish is burnished and shining.

"Holy shit," Moblit says, gaping. He leans forward to touch the mirror but then stops just before his fingers touch it, like he's afraid it will shatter all over again.

Roy is eyeing the mirror critically. He runs his fingers over the glass, then lifts the mirror horizontally in the air and peers at it sideways to gauge if the surface is level. "It's okay," he says eventually, placing the mirror back on the dresser. "Not, what is it, _perfekt_? But good _genug_."

"Perfect," Levi says automatically. "And _genoeg_. Same words." Maybe the mirror isn't perfect, but it seems more than good enough. It was a piece of crap mirror from a second-hand store, and if Levi didn't stand in front of it just right it made him look short(er) and fat. The imperfections are gone now; even from across the room Levi can see the reflection is accurate.

Moblit is still staring at the mirror. He leans in close enough that his breath fogs it up. "That," he says. He waves vaguely in the general direction of the mirror and the now-restored dresser and the leftover transmutation marks on the floor. "That was …" He waves his hand some more, seemingly unable to come up with a sufficiently descriptive adjective. "How did you even _do_ that?"

Roy has a look he reserves for when people are being particularly obtuse in his presence. It's a combination of disbelief, dismay and displeasure, and it can be devastatingly effective. (Roy never uses it on Levi; Roy has a separate set of devastatingly effective expressions he saves for Levi.) Levi thinks Roy would be entirely justified in using the "are you an idiot" look on Moblit now, but Roy has developed an inexplicable fondness for Moblit – like he's a favored pet, Levi thinks sometimes – and so Roy's expression is only one of tolerance. "Alchemy," Roy said, very matter-of-factly, without even a single withering overtone.

Mike shifts so that he is kneeling on the bed; Levi finds it marginally preferable to have Mike's knobby knees on the blanket rather than his underwear-clad ass. Mike has been mostly quiet since re-entering the room, keeping a careful and cautious eye on Roy, hands never far from the hilt of his sword, for what purpose, Levi can't imagine. Mike cannot imagine he is any sort of threat to Roy whether Roy has his gloves on or not. "But it's different than your flame," Mike says.

Roy nods. "It is. But not so very different."

Moblit pokes a cautious finger at the mirror, which does nothing except wobble in place a bit. He twists his head around to what looks to be an uncomfortable angle, like his body can't pull away from the mirror even if he's not looking at it. "When you make fire," Moblit says, "you make more oxygen in the air."

"Yes."

"And when you made the spikes, you turned air into stone. And when you made the spear, you turned the air into wood. But you didn't turn the air into glass."

Roy stares blankly at Moblit for a minute, then another two. Levi can't tell if Roy's confusion is because Moblit spoke too quickly, with unfamiliar words, or whether he's just dumbfounded because Moblit said something stupid. That's where Levi would put his money, though he's not really sure in this case. He doesn't really know where the spikes and the spear came from. They were the same material as the floor and the dresser, but the dresser didn't have a spear-sized hole in it, even before Roy fixed it, and the floor had looked much the same, just … with spikes.

"I didn't turn the air into stone," is what Roy says eventually. He looks … sad, actually. A little resigned. Roy can get animated and excited when talking about alchemy, but just as often it makes him depressed. Levi's not quite sure why, except that maybe it just reminds him how far away he is from his home. "When I make flame, that is gas alchemy. But for the ... the _stachlen"_ – he gestures towards the scarred floor where the spikes were—"that was alchemy of stone. And the spear, that was alchemy of wood."

"They're all different?" Mike asks.

Roy nods. "Yes. Stone alchemy is the easiest. Stone is … is … it's stupid. It doesn't fight. It only … it does what you tell it. I learned stone alchemy when I was nine, maybe 10 years. From a book." He shrugs, though his face tints a bit pink, like he's embarrassed. "I made a hole in the floor. My aunt was not happy." He coughs, and rubs at his hair, which is even more disastrous than usual. "I can not … could not, I mean, could not make the floor right again for many days. My aunt, she told me no more alchemy _bis_ I have a teacher."

Levi tries to imagine Roy at nine, short and skinny, gap-toothed with untamed hair and scabs on his knees. Probably precocious and certainly sassy, smiling up at his aunt – a nebulous form in Levi's mind – with a book in his hand, proudly showing off a brand-new hole in the floor. Levi wonders if Roy's aunt was more proud or exasperated, wonders if she realized at that moment how much trouble her nephew was going to be as he grew.

Probably, Levi thinks. The Roy in his mind is a mischievous brat. Not all that different from the Roy in front of him.

Speaking of whom, the Roy in front of him looks drained. The cut on his temple is still trickling blood and the bruise around it is already starting to turn colors. He ought to be icing it. He ought to be lying down.

Come to think of it, Levi ought to be lying down too. His ear is still tingling and his neck's still sore from when Roy had been choking him, a small detail he'd left out of his report to Erwin. He's more bruised from Roy's attack than he was from the last two days spent fighting Titans.

"I think," Levi says, "that alchemy lessons can wait until tomorrow, when we've all gotten a little sleep."

"As if you sleep," Moblit snorts, but he hoists himself up into a standing position, groaning.

"It's practically morning anyway," Mike says, glancing out the window.

"Erwin postponed the meeting until after lunch," Levi says.

Moblit and Mike both look appropriately surprised. Erwin keeps to his meeting schedules like they were handed down by the gods themselves. At least he used to before he lost his arm. The loss of a limb shouldn't have affected Erwin's compulsion for punctuality, but he tires more easily now and is less able to handle shocks to his system like middle-of-the-night crises. When he'd postponed the meeting, he'd made it sound like the decision was for Levi's sake; for Levi's sake, and for Roy's and Mike's and Moblit's. Maybe it was, mostly. But at least a little bit, Erwin had to have made that choice for himself. Levi hopes so, at any rate.

"Sorry to bother your sleep," Roy mumbles, as Moblit and Mike see themselves out. Then he turns to Levi, poking at the cut on his head with a grimace. "I should clean this," he says, without looking Levi in the eye, and he heads to the bathroom.

Levi looks around the bedroom with a sigh. The furniture is back to rights, only a few faint marks on the floor to show where the spikes were, and hardly a ripple in the finish of the dresser where the spear had been. Roy's cut is likely to be the longest-lasting souvenir of the incident. That and the guilt Levi had already seen blooming in Roy's expression, as if it was his fault that he'd had some kind of panic attack when Levi had been careless and thoughtless enough to pin him down.

Levi chews at his lip a little and strips the blanket off the bed, replacing it with a thinner one, scratchy and threadbare, but superior in that Mike hadn't been sitting on it. Roy comes out when Levi is remaking the bed, tucking the blanket in around the edges. Levi is very particular about his corners, even though Roy is habitually a restless sleeper and the corners will be undone come morning anyway.

"Let me help," Roy says, then bends over and starts tugging the blanket into place without waiting for acknowledgement. There is a small plaster on his cheek. Levi looks at the thin dark stain over the cut and feels a pang of guilt all his own.

"It's not your fault," Roy says, smoothing down the corner of the blanket. He straightens up too quickly and closes his eyes, hand flying to his forehead. It's a gesture Levi's well acquainted with from hours on the training ground: Roy's dizzy.

Levi's guilt surges again. "I threw you across the room," he says, watching Roy carefully to make sure he's not about to pass out or anything.

But Roy just waits a minute and then opens his eyes. They look tired. "I tried to ... to _würgen_ you," he says, making a choking motion with his hands. "And I punched you in the head." Having finished neatening the bed, he stares at it a little forlornly, playing with a corner of the new blanket. After a moment, he turns and walks out of the bedroom to the living room, straight to the cabinet where Levi keeps his small stock of liquor.

"It's the middle of the night," Levi says patiently, while Roy opens a bottle of cheap whiskey with deft, swift fingers.

Roy glances at him but doesn't seem impressed or deterred by Levi's infallible logic.

"And you had plenty already."

This time, Roy's glance at him is tinged with a hint of irritation. "That was many hours ago." He pours himself a shot, amber and pungent, and swallows it down before the liquid's had the chance to dirty the glass.

Levi swallows a sigh, just waits and watches patiently while Roy serves himself a second shot of whiskey. This one he drinks in three swallows instead of one gulp, which Levi supposes is a good sign. When he's done, Roy glances at the bottle and then at Levi, frowning slightly. After a moment, he seems to come to some sort of decision; he closes the bottle back up and places it back in the cabinet. "I'm not drunk," he says, his tone defensive.

Levi shrugs. "I didn't say you were." And he hadn't, he hadn't suggested it or even thought it. Sometimes Levi thinks that Roy is having conversations with someone else when he's talking to Levi. Mostly, Levi is pretty sure it's Maes.

Roy narrows his eyes at Levi, but heads to the kitchen to quickly rinse out his glass, because he knows it would drive Levi crazy to have a dirty glass in the kitchen all night, even if it was in the sink. While he is at it, he washes out the two tea cups, which Levi dries and puts away. Then Roy stands at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, hesitating. "I can go," he says finally. "I can sleep in my room."

Roy sleeps in his quarters a few nights a week so it wouldn't be unprecedented, but he never sleeps in his room if he and Levi have fucked first, even if they fall into bed early enough in the night that neither of them are particularly tired afterwards. Roy's kind of a cuddler and Levi's learned to like the way Roy drapes himself all over Levi, arms heavy and warm like an expensive woolen blanket. They fuck until they can't anymore and then they lie in bed and Levi teaches Roy vocabulary and tries to teach him grammar, but really it's Roy teaching Levi grammar because he understands it better than Levi does. Levi learned how to speak because everyone learns how to speak as a matter of course, but Levi never learned the rules, not officially. Kenny taught him to read and taught him his numbers but never sent him to school.

So, Levi spends his nights lying naked and sweaty in bed learning about pronouns and adjectives and adverbs, and he learns about prepositions and conjunctions, and he learns about verbs – how to conjugate them, and how so many of them are irregular, and how some are transitive and some are intransitive, and what the fuck that even means. He spends hours learning about grammar and Roy says that's just the beginning, and Levi had no fucking idea there were so many goddamn rules just to speak; Levi thinks it's amazing that anyone learns any language, ever.

But some nights, if Levi's too stressed or Roy's in one of his bad moods that he can't be talked out of or Erwin's being a shit and drowning Levi in reports or Roy's got yet another cold and is dripping germs and mucous everywhere, sometimes on those nights when one or both of them is irritable and cranky and foul, Roy goes to his own quarters and spends the night at his desk with his lamp that never runs out of gas and his ink well that's never empty; he works until he can't keep his eyes open and then he falls into bed and Levi knows Roy sometimes doesn't even bother taking off his outside clothes when he does, which is why Levi always makes him change the sheets if they're going to fuck there, because Levi has standards. And on the nights they aren't together, Levi doesn't go to bed until the clock's well into the new morning, and even then he only sleeps a couple of hours before he gets up and starts cleaning or working.

It's already past the time Levi would be getting up if Roy wasn't staying with him, and the thought of Roy skulking back to his own quarters in the early hours of the morning with a bloodied plaster on his cheek and whiskey on his breath settles like a weight deep in Levi's chest, a feeling that's not quite nausea but close. "Don't," Levi says, meaning for it to be matter-of-fact, but when he hears himself, the words sound a little too raw. He clears his throat and settles back on his heels, parade-rest casual. "Stay."

Briefly, Roy's gaze flits to the liquor cabinet, possibly looking for somewhere else to land his eyes so that Levi can't read his thoughts in his expression. That his eyes land on the liquor cabinet in a room full of more interesting objects is maybe force of habit, or maybe something more. "I won't sleep well," he says eventually, and even if it's an excuse, it's still probably still true.

Levi shrugs. "I never sleep well." That is definitely true. "And I don't mind. I'm used to it."

Roy looks to the cabinet again, briefly, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He wants another drink because he thinks he won't sleep otherwise, but he also knows that Levi thinks Roy's had too much already, and so he won't have another if he stays.

Levi finds himself oddly touched by this of all things. Roy isn't a creature of grand gestures, but that's okay because Levi isn't one either and would hate to be the recipient of any. It's in the little things that Roy puts meaning and it's in the little things that Levi finds it.

"I can tell you a story," Levi says suddenly, though even as the words are leaving his mouth, he can't believe he's saying them.

Roy's restless fingers still, and he cocks his head curiously.

"A story?"

Levi's not sure whether Roy is confused at such a ludicrous idea percolating from a sleep-deprived, punched-in-the-ear brain, or whether he doesn't know the word. It's hard to tell sometimes; Roy's slightly confused a lot of the time, battered by an unfamiliar language and unfamiliar customs and a lack of a common history. "You know," Levi says. "I tell you about things that happened to people, only maybe they're not real people and maybe the things didn't really happen."

Roy nods slowly. He doesn't look perplexed, exactly. More like he is considering the offer and wondering what had prompted Levi to make it. Levi is wondering the same thing himself. It's not like Kenny had ever told him a story or read him a book to put him to sleep. Kenny would train him until he'd pass out from exhaustion or he'd just send Levi to his scratchy little hay mattress and tell him to shut the fuck up until the morning. If he'd even been there. Kenny had been an inconsistent caretaker. There'd been times when Levi wouldn't see him for days in a row, when Kenny had been tending to his business, and Levi had had to fend for himself, stretching whatever meager scraps of food Kenny had left him, if there'd been any at all. No, Kenny had never told him a single bedtime story, so Levi doesn't know where this idea has even come from. Maybe, he thinks dimly, maybe his mother … but then Levi takes that thought and shoves it away, buries it down about as far as it can go.

"Okay," Roy says, dragging Levi's attention back to the present. "I will hear a story." He smiles then, and if it's small, it's honest and a little sly, like Roy himself. "Will the story have sex in it?"

"For fuck's sake," Levi huffs, exasperated. "Get into bed."

Roy lets out a laugh but obliges, following Levi into the bedroom. He settles into the bed, keeping his underclothes on, which is unusual, and draws the light blanket up to his waist, lying on his back to keep his bandaged cheek off the pillow, liquor-fueled movements a little slow and clumsy.

Levi douses the lamp and climbs into bed next to Roy, sinking down into the mattress, his own exhaustion catching up with him all in a rush. Twelve hours earlier, they'd been fighting Titans. Two hours ago, he'd been fighting Roy.

"If you want," Roy murmurs next to him, voice like warm velvet in Levi's ear, "I can tell you a story."

For a moment, Levi does want it. He wants it more than anything. He wants to hear Roy's voice, dripping honey-sweet words into the dark, telling tales of some other world where Titans don't exist and people can wrest power from the air and craft fire and stone and metal with just a thought. But Levi's the one who offered and there will be other nights, lying together in the dark, when Roy can tell his own stories.

So, Levi scrapes through the dregs of his memories to find a few stories everyone knows, even kids who grew up in the back alleys of the Underground, and settles on the one about the boy who wanted more cheese. He chooses it mostly because Roy loves cheese, and also because Levi thinks the words are simple enough that Roy can follow. Levi stumbles a bit when he gets to the part about the fairies, but it turns out the word in Roy's language is close enough to the same, and Roy's half asleep by this time anyway, a warm and heavy weight against Levi's side, breaths slow and even.

Levi reaches the end of the story. At least, he reaches what he thinks is the end. If there is more to the tale, he doesn't know it. The silly boy wakes up chewing on grass, and Levi lets his words trail away into the blanketing darkness. He wonders now what the moral is, because surely every children's story has one. Perhaps it's not to trust pretty creatures that promise you everything you think you want, or maybe it's just that things are not always what they seem.

Roy shifts beside him, almost all the way asleep, peaceful now even if that's unlikely to last through the rest of the night, no matter how little of the night remains, no matter how tired he is or how many drinks he's had. Roy's demons rarely leave him alone for long.

But for now, for this moment at least, Roy's at ease, and Levi will take it for the small blessing it is. "Good night," he says softly, even though the night was anything but good and is practically over to boot.

Roy makes a sleepy, contented noise beside him and nuzzles his head into Levi's neck. "G'night," he mumbles, and then between one breath and the next, he goes still and quiet and falls fast asleep.

Levi lies there in the dark for a little while, counting Roy's breaths like sheep, and the slow steady rhythm lets him drift away too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, it feels like I have been waiting to post this _forever_. It's one of my favorite parts of the whole story. I hope you enjoyed it too.
> 
> Thanks as always to SapphireMusings for the beta, and keeping me on the comma straight and narrow. 
> 
> Now, as to the artwork: I did warn you not to look at it too closely. This is one of those things where you think to yourself, hey, wouldn't it be great to find a picture of Roy in bed? And then you realize that no such image exists, and you can't get what you want without completely plagiarizing a legitimate fan artist, which you will not do, no matter how comfortable you are plagiarizing the official art. So then you have to find other images that you can use with a clear conscience, and download apps and do a whole heck of pixel editing, banging your head against the wall the whole time because you actually have not one bit of natural artistic talent in your entire body. And then you're fixing nipples and putting in extra abdominal muscles because Roy is canonically ripped and adding a scar because the scar's kind of a big deal. And then the end result is ... okay? Maybe? But only if you don't look at it too closely. So please don't look at it too closely. Just appreciate my enthusiasm and intrepid spirit. :)
> 
> Comments = love. I treasure every one!


	11. You must believe you can be strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10,700+ words of people talking. No plot. Some angst. Some embarrassing tidbits being revealed. And also Moblit's egg-eating habits, just because. But mostly it's just people talking.
> 
> Roy:  
> But now, after this entirely ordinary day, Roy is awake, panicking quietly in the dark. Beside him, Levi is sleeping quietly, breath soft and rhythmic. He's the lightest sleeper Roy's ever known, and it's rare that he's so deeply under like this. Roy doesn't want to wake him, so he forces himself to remain still, to breathe through the panic even though his heart's pounding and his stomach is twisting in knots. _Nothing's changed_ , he tells himself. _This was always how it was going to turn out. You couldn't have believed otherwise._
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy hums thoughtfully, now tracing all the other scars on Levi's back, one at a time. "Being strong is more than just having strength. You must know how to use it. You must believe you can be strong." His fingers ghost lightly across Levi's skin. There's strength in those fingertips, Levi thinks. Sometimes Roy's fingers are weapons, with the power to burn, to destroy. But not all the time. Sometimes, Roy's fingers are just fingers, drawing patterns on Levi's back.

After the Night of the Spikes (so Moblit likes to call it), Roy's training resumes in earnest. He spends what seems to be an inordinate amount of time with the gear, because he still cannot use his flame unless he's got both feet planted firmly on the ground, at least not to his own or Hange's satisfaction. But if he can't use his flame, then leaving the ground makes him feel more vulnerable, not less; if he's aloft, he can't protect himself or anyone else. Hange has been working on refining the ODM controls to suit Roy better in the vain hope that Roy will someday be able to transmute while in the air. It's a variation of the one-handed gear Erwin uses, this set designed for someone who hasn't had decades of practice with the infernal things. Most days, whipping through the air while clutching desperately at the controls to prevent himself from smashing into the ground or a tree, Roy thinks the hope is very vain indeed.

The glasses help. Roy can begrudgingly admit it even though it has been months and he still loathes them with every fiber of his being and would almost rather accept the dizziness in trade. Levi thinks he's being ridiculous; so do Moblit and Hange and even Armin, who otherwise is still inexplicably convinced that Roy is perfection incarnate. Maybe all of them are right about the glasses. Maybe Roy _is_ being ridiculous. But knowing that in his head doesn't ease in any way the distaste in his heart, even if the glasses are the single thin wall between Roy and crippling nausea.

But there is more to Roy's training, too. After the Night of the Spikes, Hange immediately started testing Roy's other abilities, irritated, Roy thinks, at the time focused on fire to the exclusion of all else, as if Roy had been lax in not informing the Corps that his ability with stone stretched beyond melting it away.

Roy knows he _is_ somewhat to blame for not divulging the information, though he supposes he'd kept it to himself at first out of habit. But once it had become clear beyond even his own well-developed sense of paranoia that he could trust these people with his secrets, other forms of alchemy still hadn't seemed worth discussing. Roy hasn't focused on solid-state alchemy since he was 18 years old. Each branch of alchemy takes years of study to master; that's why most alchemists have such tightly focused areas of expertise, working with a single substance, transmuting it into one of a few specific configurations.

Alchemy is _hard_ , demanding rigorous concentration, preparation and precision, which is something most people don't seem to fully grasp, or so Roy had complained many times to Maes, when Maes would ask him to "alchemy this for me, would you?"

It's easier now that Roy's seen Truth's portal and no longer needs to worry about faulty arrays and alchemical disasters. Easier, but still not natural. The spikes in Levi's floor had taken Roy several minutes to transmute away: a short amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but a very long time if Levi's bedroom had been a battlefield and someone's life had been on the line.

Hange is unconcerned that the process of reversing the transmutation had been so slow, given that Roy had performed the original transmutation while utterly out of his goddamn mind. "If you can do it on instinct," Hange had said, peering at him analytically, "you can learn to do it on purpose."

And so Roy is training hard, harder than he has since he lived in Master Hawkeye's house. In a way, it feels much like the beginning of Roy's time here, hours a day spent under Hange's unrelenting gaze, transmuting stone and earth and wood and water and anything else Hange can think of, because any ability can be weaponized, and any weapon can make the difference between life and death.

One time and one time only, Hange had asked Roy if he could transmute a living Titan. Moblit likes to tell the story of how quickly the blood had drained from Roy's face. Hange had just nodded, jotted down a note, and never mentioned it again.

Even when Hange is busy, as does happen occasionally, Roy is still expected to train. Day in and day out, often with Moblit serving as Hange's proxy, with a clipboard full of exercises for Roy to run through. Moblit is easier to work with than Hange, reliably impressed at even the simplest transmutations, and much more willing than Hange to take breaks at regular intervals.

Roy doesn't see Levi as much as he'd like, though he knows Levi has his own duties here that have nothing to do with Roy at all. Roy supposes he's lucky that Levi shunted so many of his responsibilities aside when Roy arrived, though it'd been something of a necessity, since Levi was the best at interpreting Roy's garbled attempts at speech. At this point, though, Roy's pretty good at making himself understood, and Hange and Moblit in particular are almost as fluent in Roy-speak as Levi.

"What happened between Levi and Erwin?" Roy asks Moblit one day, when they are sitting outside on the practice fields, eating a lunch of boiled eggs and pungent cheese and crusty bread, not a single green vegetable in sight. The summer sun is quite hot, so they are cross-legged in the shade of a big leafy tree, with their food in front of them on white waxed paper. Moblit has brought only one napkin and no cutlery so they have been licking their fingers clean after each bite. Levi would be disgusted.

Moblit is carefully peeling an egg, dripping irregular cracked bits of shell to the ground, heedless of the mess. "What do you mean?" he asks, squinting down at the egg and rubbing his fingernail across the surface to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of shell. "Did they fight again?"

"No," Roy says, though Levi and Erwin fight with some frequency so it would not have been astonishing had the answer been yes. "I mean before, in the past years."

Moblit is now nibbling away at the white part of the egg, careful not to break into the yolk, which he likes to eat separately, all mashed up and spread on a piece of bread. He swallows his mouthful without chewing and puts the egg down on the paper, lodging the naked egg up against his bread to prevent it from rolling away and into the dirt. He looks strangely hesitant to answer Roy's question. "Have you asked Levi?"

Levi has been in a particularly foul mood lately, irritable even beyond his own usual standards of grumpiness, and so Roy has largely restricted his conversations to vocabulary, grammar and how much he dislikes the ODM gear. Those topics are safe and reliable, unlikely to send Levi flying into a fit of expletive-filled ranting too fast and too foul for Roy to follow. Command has been on Erwin's case again about transferring Roy out of the Survey Corps, and Erwin has assigned Levi the unenviable task of writing the reports to justify why Roy should be allowed to stay. Levi hates writing reports about as much as Roy hates the ODM gear, and the stress of the topic only makes things worse.

"No," Roy answers, peeling his own egg far more neatly than Moblit and placing the discarded shell in a tidy pile on the paper. "He doesn't like to talk about it."

Moblit grunts and Roy waits patiently, glancing over at Moblit at precisely timed intervals, projecting just enough interest to keep the thought of answering alive in Moblit's head, but not so much that his curiosity appears prurient.

"Eh," Moblit says eventually. He has eaten all the white from the egg and is now left with the hard ball of yolk. He places it on his bread and folds the bread in half around it, squeezing hard so the yolk dissolves into a thick yellow paste. "I probably shouldn't tell you," he says around a mouthful of egg and bread, but this is code meaning only that Moblit will tell him anyway, after a moment of decorous reluctance.

Roy carefully picks the rind off a piece of cheese while he waits for Moblit to decide a suitable interval has passed. The cheese is mild and nutty, only a little sour. Moblit is well aware of Roy's fondness for it and has brought him four pieces for his lunch. Roy has already eaten two because he can't resist, so he takes only small bites of this third slice to make it last a little longer.

After another moment of dithering, Moblit shrugs. "You know Levi was in the Underground before the Corps," he says, brushing crumbs from his trousers and then leaning back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

Roy nods. He's still not entirely clear on what it signifies to have grown up in the Underground, but he guesses there is a social stratification mirroring the physical one, that those with wealth and power live in the towns and cities above the ground, and those without make their homes in the city buried in the dirt.

"He was _ingehuurd_ to steal some paper from Erwin," Moblit says. "That's, um, given money for it, right?"

Roy nods. _Hired_ is almost the same. But, "To steal paper?" There is no shortage of paper here, unlike Ishval, where a single sheet of used paper, carefully bleached clean, could fetch enough coin to buy a large flask of wine.

"Important paper," Moblit says. "With information on it. I don't know what it was. You should ask Mike. He was there." He sits up again, leaning forward to shake out his arms then wiping the dirt off his hands before setting them to rest comfortably in his lap. "Levi and two friends came together to steal the paper. Except I think they were more than friends." He looks at Roy out of the corner of his eyes, as if unsure how Roy will react to the suggestion that Levi had a previous lover or lovers.

Roy does his best not to look scandalized or jealous, only attentive to the story. He is down to his last piece of cheese, which he places carefully on his last half slice of bread to eat them together, like Moblit is eating his yolk.

"The rumor is that Levi was also supposed to kill Erwin," Moblit says, voice pitched low even though there is no one around to hear.

Roy is so startled that he can't stop the soft huff of surprise from escaping. "What? That is … that's _lächerlich_. Ridiculous." Although he supposes it isn't, really. Levi can be cold and cruel, and his estimation of a person's worth is either great or negligible, with nothing in between. But there is a difference between viewing a person's life as worthless and actually being the one to do take that life away; plus Roy does not see Levi as the sort to seek to profit from someone's death when the only gain is strictly monetary. Levi cares for money as little as he cares for other people.

Moblit shrugs. "That's the rumor. I don't know if it's true. But I know that Erwin tricked Levi somehow, and Levi's friends got eaten. And then Levi went crazy and tried to murder Erwin."

This is a lot of words, and Moblit says them quickly and quietly. It takes Roy a moment to parse them all, sort them out so they make sense, and even when they do, they still don't cohere into sensibility. Levi being hired to assassinate Erwin is far-fetched but at least plausible. Levi had a whole life before he joined the Scouts that Roy knows little of except that it wasn't easy. But Erwin tricking Levi so that Levi's lover … lovers? … ended up eaten by Titans is not a sequence of events that Roy can understand.

"Erwin wouldn't do that," Roy says.

Moblit gives Roy a measuring look that lasts as long as it takes Roy to finish his last two bites of bread and cheese. The sun is high overhead and Roy is almost tired enough to ask for the afternoon off, but he won't because it wouldn't be fair to put Moblit in the position of having to deny Roy or defy Hange. "Erwin is a great leader," Moblit says slowly, as Roy is licking his fingers clean. "If anyone can save us from the Titans, it will be Erwin. But"—He furrows his brow and pulls restlessly at his ear—"being a great leader isn't the same as being a great man. He's done things that aren't …" Moblit trails off, looking profoundly uncomfortable, before finishing, "… he's very _gefocust_ on winning against the Titans. He needed Levi for that."

And didn't need Levi's friends, Roy thinks, aghast. If that is true — and there is no reason to think it isn't, unless Roy has misunderstood Moblit or Moblit is just giving too much credence to rumor — then it is no great stretch at all to imagine that Levi would have tried to kill Erwin in retribution. It is more difficult to imagine that Levi wouldn't have succeeded, or, in the unlikely event that he failed, that he would not have tried again and again until Erwin's corpse lay stinking at his feet. There is, perhaps, more to the story. There must be.

Roy tries now to remember every interaction he has seen between Levi and Erwin. Levi is perpetually disrespectful and insubordinate in a way Roy recognizes from when Edward was under his command: challenging but not downright disobedient. Still, what Roy tolerated from Edward he would have tolerated from no other subordinate; Edwards's behavior was only acceptable because he was a boy. A formidable soldier and a fierce intellect, but a boy all the same, one who had suffered in his short life more tragedy than a dozen other people put together. Levi has suffered too, of course, but so has everyone here. Roy has yet to meet anybody in the Corps whose story is not one of heartache and loss. He doesn't know the particulars of Levi's life, only the small details Levi has accidentally let slip or that Roy himself has prised from Hange or Moblit, but nothing Roy has heard seems very much worse than what he has heard of Moblit's life, or Eren's, or Erwin's himself.

So Levi does not have the same excuse of incomparable suffering as Edward, and he is no prodigy either, though he has some strange power that Roy still doesn't understand, that gifts him with speed and strength unmatched by any other in the Corps. Still, is that power alone sufficient for Erwin to tolerate Levi's subversive attitude when it undermines Erwin's authority with the rest of the Scouts?

Roy wouldn't tolerate it, if he were the one in charge, but he hasn't given any thought as to why Erwin does; all his thinking is spent on mastering the gear and controlling his flame and improving his materials alchemy and learning to speak so he does not sound like a drunken pre-teen — he has no brain power to spare pondering why Erwin lets Levi flip him off and curse him out.

Of course, if Erwin _were_ responsible for the deaths of Levi's only friends (or lovers), then that changes the equation entirely. If Erwin had, directly or even indirectly, led Levi's friends to their deaths, then he must feel crippling, incapacitating guilt. Human life is sacred here, more sacred than it is in Amestris, and to Erwin it is even holier. Roy still can't believe that Erwin would have deliberately led Levi's friends to their deaths; it is fundamentally foreign to what Roy knows of Erwin, and a few contrary facts aren't enough to shake that conviction. But Roy has to concede that Erwin could still have been the one responsible, by accident if not design. Roy has even to concede that Erwin might have known he was putting Levi's friends into mortal peril and yet done nothing about it, if he thought their deaths might serve the greater good.

The concept of the greater good sits sourly in Roy's stomach, a weak justification applied to the invasion of Ishval and the murder of its population. Roy has not yet discussed the war with Levi in any great detail other than to acknowledge that it happened. He's considered making the attempt, especially in the mornings when he wakes up choking down a scream that's lodged in his throat overnight, but it always seems to be a conversation best suited for some other time, on some other day, preferably when Roy has had a few drinks as fortification.

"I'm surprised Levi stayed," Roy says, folding up the single napkin and the discarded wax paper with the egg shells tucked inside, and placing them into the lunch pouch. Inside there is a small flask of ale to go with the lunch. It is not enough to get drunk on, not even enough to get tipsy, but Roy gives it to Moblit without taking a drop for himself, no matter how unnatural it feels to pass it on without taking a single sip. He finds it hard enough to keep his orientation in the gear when he doesn't have alcohol dulling his reaction time. And anyway, Hange would probably actually kill him if Moblit tattled, which he might well do. Roy isn't delusional enough to think that he himself is the only one getting the benefit of Moblit's loose lips.

Moblit accepts the flask and takes a hearty swallow. Roy contents himself with a sip from the thermos of water, now lukewarm from sitting so long in the sun.

"Like I said," Moblit answers, "Erwin is a great leader, and he wasn't the one who betrayed Levi." He tilts the flask up, draining the rest of the ale, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And in the end, it was the Titans that killed Farlan and Isabel."

Farlan and Isabel are vaguely familiar names, though Roy can't remember exactly the context in which he's heard them. Levi doesn't do anything as mawkish as cry out for them in his sleep as Roy does for Maes, to his mortification, but Roy doesn't think the names have come up in casual conversation either. He'll have to think about it some more, but not right now. Now, Moblit is standing up, flipping through the notebook Hange has left, clucking to himself and ticking boxes off a checklist.

Whatever is next, Roy hopes fervently that it does not involve the gear. He knows he has to learn to tolerate it even immediately after eating. Titans don't care when you've had your last meal when they attack, nor if you've had time to properly digest your food. But even with the glasses Roy still sometimes feels like he just barely has a handle on the nausea. There's no sense tempting fate by pushing himself only moments after finishing lunch.

"Hange wants you to transmute a tree," Moblit says, after a moment.

Roy sags a little in relief. "Transmute it into what?"

Moblit shrugs. "I don't know. That's all it says." He shows the notebook to Roy, and indeed all that is written down on the line where Moblit is pointing is, "Transmute a tree."

That is mercifully vague. Roy can do practically whatever he wants and still say he completed the assignment. Perhaps he will make a small table for Levi's living room. "All right," Roy says, standing up and brushing the dust off the back of his trousers so that he doesn't bring dirt into Levi's quarters, "I can do that."

* * *

Levi wonders about Amestris sometimes. Often, actually, especially in the early hours of the morning when Roy's still sleeping and Levi doesn't want to get up and risk disturbing him. Levi has trouble grasping the concept of a place with 50 million people … and that is just in Amestris, which is apparently only one region of Roy's world. A "country," Roy calls it, which is a word that's unfamiliar to Levi and that Roy has trouble explaining except that it's a political division much bigger than a city; it's so big that there are several cities and towns within it. Roy says there are other countries that have even more people than Amestris. Roy's grasp of the total population of his world is somewhat hazy, but he thinks it's around a billion people.

Levi can't wrap his mind around that many people, that many different cultures and religions and traditions and languages.

Roy shrugs it off. People are people, he tells Levi, no matter what god they pray to or what kind of tea they drink. Not that Roy prays to any god. He doesn't have a lot of patience for religion, which is fine by Levi. Roy is also very fond of tea, which is also fine by Levi.

Roy stirs in his sleep, restless. Levi touches him gently on the shoulder, providing just enough contact to soothe, not to startle. He no longer fears that Roy's going to incinerate him in his sleep — Levi does not allow Roy to bring his gloves to bed – but Roy is still a twitchy sleeper and Levi would rather not get punched in the face (which only happened once, and Roy felt so guilty about it that he put in two extra hours practice on the ODM gear without even being asked).

Roy shifts, snorts, then blinks awake slowly. He's heavy-lidded and sleep-tousled, gorgeous in the pale peach sunlight peeking through the slats of the blinds. Most days, Levi cannot fathom what he ever did to deserve such a gift. " _Guten morgen_ ," Roy says groggily. He yawns and wipes his eyes, which are red and bleary. He needs a good night's rest, Levi thinks. One good night. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"Best part of my day," Levi says blandly. "Bad dreams again. The war?"

Roy grimaces but doesn't answer, which is an answer in and of itself. Roy rarely speaks about this war he fought in, claiming he doesn't know the words for it, but that's bullshit; Roy's more articulate in Levi's language than most people who've spoken it from birth. So it's not that he can't talk about it, just that he doesn't want to, and that's fine. Well, it's not fine, not really, but Levi has plenty of things he doesn't want to talk about either, and he knows he can't expect more from Roy than he's willing to give himself.

Levi can't help but wonder, though. Roy's said that the war was against other humans and that he did things he regrets. It's not that Levi doesn't think it's possible. Even good men can do bad things. It's just that Levi can't imagine Roy doing something so bad as to trouble his sleep even now, years later. He seems too pragmatic to be burdened with guilt for so long over things he cannot change, even if they were "terrible things," as Roy said once, when drunk. So Levi wonders.

"You're frowning," Roy says, reaching up to trace the corners of Levi's eyes. "Stop. My aunt says it gives you … _ahm._ _Falten_. Lines by your eyes?"

Levi flips over so he's on his stomach and props himself up on a pillow. "Wrinkles. Tell me about her."

Roy's arm slips down to land on Levi's back, a solid weight, warmth seeping from his fingertips. Levi hums under the touch. Not on purpose. It just happens. He's like a cat, he thinks. Like a domesticated cat. He'd be disgusted with himself if Roy's touch didn't feel so good.

"My aunt?" Roy says, now stroking absently back and forth. Levi fights not to purr. He has limits. "I've told you about her."

Levi shakes his head, which is awkward in the position he's in. "Only that she exists and that she raised you after your parents died. Now who's frowning?"

"Sorry. But what is _bestaat_?"

"Um. To live? No, more than that. To be real, or to be in the world, I guess? Humans exist, Titans exist, rocks exist, but dragons don't."

Roy nods. " _Bestehen_. I should have guessed."

"You're changing the subject. Tell me about this aunt of yours." Roy never talks about his family or his friends — only cries out for Maes in the middle of the night, calls to Riza when he's fighting the war in his dreams, mumbles Edward's name when the homunculi creatures attack him in his nightmares. Levi still doesn't know who these people are, still wonders jealously if any of them were lovers, if they're waiting for Roy to come back, even now.

Roy shrugs. "I don't know what you want to hear. She's a large woman. Tall, not skinny. She _raucht_ all the time. Do you have _zigaretten_ here?"

"Mmm." Cigarettes are available in the fancy tobacco stores but they're a fortune; a luxury only the truly wealthy can afford. Levi assumes they're more readily available in Amestris. Levi tried one once, from a pack he'd stolen from some rich bastard slumming it in the Underground brothels, but when he realized he was voluntarily breathing dirt into his body, he'd almost thrown up. He'd bartered away the rest for meat to make Farlan a dinner for his birthday.

"She's my father's older sister," Roy says. "About ten years older, I think. When I was being very _schwierig_ , she'd tell me I … hmm, what is _erinnere_? I was like him, so much I made her think of him."

"Reminded," Levi says. "Same word. What were you like when you were young?"

Roy laughs. "I was a _blag._ "

Levi can't imagine Roy ever being particularly bratty. "What happened to your parents? Do you know?"

"I think they got sick and died. There was a … a plague. Do you know that word?"

"Yes, it's the same," Levi says.

"Mmm. Thousands of people died in a few months. Many thousands." Roy stares up at the ceiling, frowning in concentration. "I was staying with my aunt for the summer. My parents traveled a lot and they would leave me with her sometimes. I don't remember exactly what happened. Only that I waited for them to come back and get me but they never did."

Levi has a sudden flash of memory. _Mama, mama, wake up!_ Of waiting and waiting and waiting, cold and hungry and alone, while Kuchel rotted away on the bed. And then Kenny came and everything changed, though not very much for the better. "Was she nice to you, your aunt?" Levi asks before he can stop himself.

"She used to terrify me." But Roy laughs when he says it, so his aunt probably wasn't terrifying the way Kenny was.

"She still terrifies me sometimes," Roy adds, grinning. "She had many rules. But in true, she was nice to me. She would let me help in the bar sometimes."

"She worked in a bar?" For some reason, this doesn't fit in with Levi's conception of Roy's childhood. Roy seems too urbane and sophisticated to have grown up in a rough environment. But maybe that's just Levi projecting. Maybe rough in Amestris is still civilized compared to the Underground.

"She owned the bar. She owns one still. But it wasn't just a bar. It was … hmm. A _saal_? There was music, and there were always pretty women there to talk to the men. It also had some rooms people could sleep in over the night."

"A saloon?" Levi guesses, unsettled.

Roy shrugs. "Maybe." He examines Levi's face, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Levi says. "Nothing. Nothing, really. It's just … did the women, did they only talk to the men? Or did they do more than talk?"

Roy pulls himself up to a sitting position against the headboard, his expression guarded. "Most of the times they just talked," he says cautiously.

"Not always?"

"Not always." Roy looks uncomfortable now, uneasy, and he straightens up like he's bracing himself. "Is it … it's a problem?"

"No," Levi says. "Not a problem. Of course not. It's just my mother. She used to do that. Not the talking. The more than. She fucked them." He frowns into the pillow, not daring to look up. This is something he's never said out loud before, not even to Farlan, who probably knew full well how Levi's mother had paid her way and wouldn't have cared anyway. "She was a prostitute. And then she died. She was dead for a week and the man who ran the bordello never noticed."

Roy's voice is very quiet when he speaks. Levi still can't bring himself to look. "I'm sorry. Your father?"

"Never knew him," Levi says. "He was a client. I don't know if she even knew which one. It wasn't the kind of place where people give their real names anyway."

Roy makes some kind of distressed noise. "Did your mother get sick from sex?"

"Dunno," Levi mutters. "Probably? But maybe not. The Underground's filthy. No real doctors. Medicine's a fortune. No sunlight. People die all the time." He shrugs one shoulder. "I only recently found out she was an Ackerman. Like Mikasa. So I got my strength from her. But she didn't … she let those men treat her like she was garbage. Worse than garbage. I always thought she had to do it, you know? That she was like all the other women there who didn't have a choice. But now I know she could just have … if she'd wanted, she could have … but she didn't. And then she died. She just let herself die." _Left me alone,_ Levi thinks. _Left me for Kenny to find, or didn't care if anyone found me at all._

Roy makes a disapproving noise. "Does being an Ackerman mean you can't get sick?"

Levi shrugs again. "Dunno. No. I guess not. I've been sick."

"And it doesn't mean you can't get injured." Roy's hand comes to rest on Levi's back, tentatively traces the path of an old scar from Levi's childhood, when he'd been too slow to dodge one of Kenny's blades.

"No."

"Then maybe your mother didn't just let herself die." Roy's voice is gentle. So, so gentle. Like Levi's fragile. Precious.

Levi sighs. "Maybe not. But she still let those men treat her like shit."

Roy hums thoughtfully, now tracing all the other scars on Levi's back, one at a time. "Being strong is more than just having strength. You must know how to use it. You must believe you can be strong." His fingers ghost lightly across Levi's skin. There's strength in those fingertips, Levi thinks. Sometimes Roy's fingers are weapons, with the power to burn, to destroy. But not all the time. Sometimes, Roy's fingers are just fingers, drawing patterns on Levi's back.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your mother," Roy says after another moment. "It wasn't like that for the women who work for my aunt. I grew up with them. They were like sisters to me." He stops. Coughs strangely. "Maybe not _exactly_ like sisters."

Levi lifts his head up and stares at him. "You're blushing," he says. "You don't mean … you fucker, did you sleep with them?"

"Um," Roy says. He swallows. "Yes?"

Levi is actually speechless.

"Not all of them," Roy adds quickly. "Just two. Well. Three, but she came later, and I …"

" _Three?"_

Roy drops his head in his hands, groaning. " _Mein gott._ "

All of a sudden, Levi is very much enjoying himself. "Your _sisters?_ "

"Not in true my sisters! Not even .. _was ist_ … my aunt's daughters?"

"Cousins," Levi says.

"Yes. No! They weren't even my cousins."

"But you grew up with them."

"Not … no, they were older, they were already grown--"

"Wait, how _much_ older?" Levi asks.

Roy stops talking and a look of dread seeps slowly across his face. He stares at Levi, wide-eyed and beet red. "... older?" he says feebly. Then he lurches out of the bed, scattering pillows and blankets everywhere. "I just remembered I am to meet Moblit at the practice range soon."

Levi flops over into the space Roy has vacated. It's warm and smells like Roy. "It's not even seven o'clock."

"We are meeting early," Roy says. He's lying, probably. "For breakfast." Definitely lying. Moblit doesn't eat breakfast before eight for some strange reason. No one knows why.

Levi's almost insulted. Not that Roy's lying, but that Roy's not trying harder. Roy has some crazy rule about not lying to Levi, but fibbing doesn't count.

"Breakfast at the practice range?"

Roy stops what he's doing – scrounging for some clean clothes, giving Levi a fairly spectacular view of his naked ass – and flips Levi off. "I'm going to wash."

"Leave me some hot water," Levi says comfortably, and lies back in the bed. It's going to be a good day. He can tell already.

* * *

Roy is many things, some of which he'll admit to more easily than others. He's unusually handsome (if a bit vain about it), a powerful alchemist, a little too pragmatic, occasionally ruthless, often self-centered, a bit of a lush. He's also smarter than he lets most people realize, because he'd never get away with half the shit he does if people truly understood how little that happens around him is by chance. One thing he is not, however, is self-deluding. Not customarily. Not deliberately.

Which is why, when realization hits him, he lays in bed very quietly and makes himself absorb it, no matter how unpleasant it is.

It's the middle of the night after what had been an ordinary day: training in the morning, first on the latest iteration of the one-handed gear, which he's crap at because every time they modify the gear it's like he has to start all over; and then later practicing alchemy on the range, a little bit of flame, for power and distance and precision; and then materials because his stone is pretty good but his earth is mediocre, and earth alchemy might be handy out past the walls. Then a few quick hands of troeven at lunchtime, and a couple of hours in the library patiently making his way through one of the few history texts Armin had suggested to him, a dense, dusty old volume about a thousand pages long and dull as dirt. Roy has been working through the first section for weeks with a dictionary on one side of the table and his notebook on the other, writing down dozens of new words each day.

Dinner had been with Moblit and Hange, with Hange critiquing almost everything he'd accomplished during the morning and Moblit trying to make Roy feel better about sucking at the gear. The meal had been potatoes served hot and crispy from the oven, slathered with beans dripping in a sweet brown sugary sauce, a dark, pungent rye bread with a thick layer of a mysterious savory spread, and a hearty barley ale to wash it all down. The food is plainer and simpler here than Roy was used to at home but it's solid and satisfying and he never goes to bed hungry.

The mess had served oatmeal cookies for dessert, thick and chunky and buttery, studded with raisins and dark on the bottom just the way Roy loves them best; he'd eaten two and brought a third back for Levi, who'd had a meeting with Erwin that stretched from afternoon all the way through evening and into the night. Then he'd spent the rest of the night with Levi, reviewing his new vocabulary while Levi pounded the dust out of the sofa cushions and then scrubbed away some dubious stains in the fabric.

Then they'd fallen into bed, both exhausted, but not so much they couldn't have sex. It had been quick and comfortable and satisfying, and they'd both fallen asleep immediately. At least, Roy had, and he thinks Levi probably did too.

But now, after this entirely ordinary day, Roy is awake, panicking quietly in the dark. Beside him, Levi is sleeping quietly, breath soft and rhythmic. He's the lightest sleeper Roy's ever known, and it's rare that he's so deeply under like this. Roy doesn't want to wake him, so he forces himself to remain still, to breathe through the panic even though his heart's pounding and his stomach is twisting in knots. _Nothing's changed_ , he tells himself. _This was always how it was going to turn out. You couldn't have believed otherwise._

And he hadn't believed otherwise, really. But he hadn't really thought about it, either, even though it's been months by now. He hadn't _let_ himself think about it, if he is being honest with himself. He hadn't laid it all out in his head, gone through it clearly and dispassionately, followed the facts from one to the next to reach the only logical conclusion: he's stuck here forever. _Forever_ , he says to himself silently, and swallows hard. His pulse is thundering in his ears, so loud in the nighttime silence that he's a little surprised Levi can sleep through it.

But that's just him being melodramatic, something else he has a tendency to be. Along with a bit neurotic. Paranoid. Periodically depressive. It's amazing he functions as well as he does, actually. It's amazing he gets anything done, that he's managed to rise as far through the ranks as he has.

Which is irrelevant now, of course. Youngest state alchemist in Amestris (before Ed, of course, who blew that record out of the water), youngest general in Amestrian military history, on track to become the youngest Fuhrer, and all of that is completely, thoroughly, entirely irrelevant now. It might as well have never happened, for all that it will matter here.

His stomach twists again and he has to hold himself still and breathe through it. He's itching to get up and out of bed, move around, do something, anything, to escape his own head. He doesn't like lying in bed anyway unless he's sleeping or having sex; there is far too little to distract him from all the many things he doesn't want to think about, which even on a good day is a long list.

This isn't a good day. Night, rather. He is wide awake and wired, thoughts swirling in a frantic loop inside his head, all the people he's never going to see again — Aunt Chris, Riza, Jean, Gracia and Elysia — his heart stutters for a moment; he'd promised Maes a long time ago that he'd take care of Gracia and Elysia if … if the worst happened. Admittedly he'd been doing a pretty lousy job of it, but still, he'd promised Maes, he always meant to … _Jean_ , he thinks again, determinedly, and Kain and Heymans, and of course Edward and Alphonse — his heart stutters again, thumps so hard against his ribcage it hurts, because he'd promised to take care of them too, even if that was a promise he'd made in the silence and safety of his own head, even if they were the two people he knew least in need of care-taking.

Levi sighs a little and rolls over. Roy freezes. Levi sleeps, Roy thinks, at best four hours a night, sometimes as few as two. Roy doesn't understand how he remains functional. Roy is not, has never been, a good or sound sleeper, but he needs at least six hours of sleep on average or he's cranky and useless. Levi's been asleep for at least three hours already; maybe if Roy's quiet and still enough, Levi will not wake.

It's funny how much that's come to matter to Roy already. They haven't been together that long relatively, not even six months. Roy's had a few relationships that have lasted longer, if not by much, but none that felt so settled so quickly, and none with a man. It's not that he's ever been worried what people will think. He's never bothered to keep his sex life a secret, and the fact that on any given night he was as likely to go home with a man as a woman never mattered to anybody in the military or out of it. It's just that, somehow, Roy's always felt that men are for fucking and women are for dating, and the fact that he hasn't slept with anybody else but Levi here is only because … well, because he's never met anyone like Levi before.

 _Except Edward_ , a little voice in his head says snidely. Roy shudders, disconcerted and a little revolted. Edward's _seventeen_ _,_ and straight, and married, and _seventeen_ _,_ and Roy has never, ever gone there, not even in his head, not in even his most perverted fantasies. Levi's not that much like Edward anyway, except for being noticeably short. (Levi is actually a few inches shorter than Edward, and Roy can just imagine how gleeful Edward would be about that, and how much shit he'd give Roy.)

But in other ways, they're really not much alike. Edward's blond and stocky, not Roy's type in coloring or build, while Levi's dark and slim and lithe. Edward doesn't care about his appearance (that _coat,_ good god; Roy knows Edward still wears it sometimes because Roy has spies everywhere); Levi's always impeccably dressed and just as vain as Roy even if he hides it better. Edward's fundamentally an optimist; Roy guesses Levi's never had an optimistic thought in his life. They both love to fight, it's true, but Edward fights to win, not to kill; when Levi fights, he's darkness and vengeance, lethal and gorgeous; watching Levi glide through the air with his swords is the closest Roy thinks he's ever come to finding religion.

 _Shit,_ he thinks hopelessly. He is truly fucked. Maes would be laughing at him, if he were alive and here, in this fucked up world with monsters out of legend and no alchemy.

 _No alchemy_ , he thinks. _No alchemy except what you know_ , _and no sudden inspiration from Truth is going to save you._ Just like that, every gloomy thought he's been trying to dismiss rears and strikes back, hard. _Forever_ , he thinks then, _you're stuck here forever._

"What's wrong," Levi says into the dark. He sounds wide awake.

Roy curses under his breath, in Amestrian out of habit. "Sorry. I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't," Levi says. He rolls onto his side and drapes an arm over Roy's waist, the weight of it heavy and warm. "But you just got all stiff, and not in the good way.'

Levi's also got a much filthier mind than Edward, something else Roy appreciates about him.

"I was just thinking," Roy says.

"About Amestris?"

Roy blinks into the dark. Sometimes he'd swear Levi is psychic. It would certainly explain how he has always been able to understand Roy's butchered attempts at speech so well, even in the beginning when Roy was mostly speaking gibberish. "Yes. How did you know?"

Levi shrugs. "You were staring at your notebook tonight. The back part. Sometimes it makes you sad."

Roy's eyes sting, and he's grateful for the blanketing darkness. He manages a "yes" without, he thinks, sounding like he's about to burst into tears. He breathes a few times in the dark. "I'm not going to be back," he says.

" _Get_ back," Levi corrects. "Of course you will."

"I won't," Roy says, and now he's sure he does sound like he's going to start crying, which is unfortunate but also entirely out of his control. "I can't, Levi. I don't know how."

Levi's quiet, his breath huffing gently into Roy's shoulder, then he sits up and turns on the bedside lamp.

Roy blinks into the sudden light. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a drink," Levi says, up and out of the bed. Roy's a little startled. Levi giving Roy alcohol is an increasingly rare occurrence. Levi isn't much of a drinker. Mostly, Roy thinks, Levi drinks so Roy doesn't feel lonely drinking by himself. Drinking by himself has never bothered Roy before, but he can admit it's nicer, having a companion.

Levi disappears into the small kitchen area and comes back with two mismatched glasses and a bottle of something alcoholic. He pours a glass of amber liquid and hands it to Roy, then pours a smaller glass for himself and sits cross-legged on the floor like a child sitting down for a game of _ente, ente, gans_. He takes a small sip of the amber colored liquid, makes a face, then swallows.

"It was alchemy, wasn't it, that brought you here?"

"Yes." Whatever Levi's brought tastes like an acrid mix of whiskey and brandy, and burns on the way down. Levi doesn't comment when Roy finishes the drink in one gulp, just uncorks the bottle and pours him another, patting the floor next to him. Roy sits down with his back against the bed. The frame is functional, not decorative, the legs squat and square. The edge of one of the legs cuts uncomfortably into Roy's back but he ignores it.

Levi is cradling his glass of brandy-whiskey but he hasn't yet taken another sip. Even when he drinks, he doesn't really drink. "Then why do you say you can't get back? You're one of the best alchemists in Amestris."

Roy frowns. He doesn't think he ever said that, not in so many words. "Not best," he says. "Strong. One of the strongest.

Levi shrugs. "You know all kinds of alchemy."

Roy looks down at his glass, which he's somehow drained again without realizing it. He reaches for the bottle and pours himself a third drink, pretending not to see the frown that flits across Levi's face, which is ridiculous, since Levi's the one who brought the alcohol out. "Flame alchemy is hard," Roy says, "but I understand it. The kind that brings me here … brought me here, I don't understand it." Hardly even saw it, can't comprehend it, can't begin to reproduce it, and there's no one here to ask, no books to research, no help to be had. Maybe, probably, it's nothing that Truth thought to leave in his brain either. Maybe that had always been just a fantasy, holding on to a slim hope as a way to keep himself from falling into despair.

Levi's brow furrows. "So, what, did you do it by accident? Is that even possible?"

"Yes." Not with regular circles, but with larger arrays, the kind that Pride had used to send him to Truth. That alchemical theory is too complicated to attempt to explain, especially when he's well on his way to drunk. Roy's finished his third glass of briskey and it's making him feel fuzzy and disoriented. "But not, not how you are thinking. Someone else made the, the _kreis._ " He traces a circle on the floor, so Levi will understand. "Another alchemist. His brain was not … not right, I don't think. The circle was _seltstam …_ that is, not normal, you understand? And it was dark; I couldn't see it well. Even if I … even if I can remember most of it, if I make a circle and it's wrong, only a little, then …" He doesn't finish, but Levi looks like he understands, or at least can guess the consequences of messing around with a poorly understood, incomplete array. Ray guesses that if he tries and fails, there won't be enough of him left to scrape off the walls.

Levi frowns, and takes a sip of his drink in lieu of answering. He grimaces automatically, like he wishes he hadn't bothered, then starts running his finger around the rim of the glass. He looks like he is struggling to find the right words to say. Roy doesn't think there are any right words to say.

"I told you once," Levi says slowly, raising his eyes to catch Roy's, "that you could stay here with us."

"Yes," Roy says. "I remember." He panics for a moment, thinking that perhaps the offer was never intended to be permanent, having been made so early on in Roy's stay. He knows Erwin gave Levi a lot of shit about it, but Roy had thought that'd been resolved. He had thought he was okay here, that if he couldn't get back home at least he would be able to stay with Levi, which is as consolation prizes go fairly substantial.

"I know you want to go home," Levi says. "I know that staying here isn't what you want."

That isn't … that's not right, really. Or it's only half right. Roy does want to go home. He wants it more than almost anything he's ever wanted. He'd expected to die many times in his life, and in each of those times he'd been prepared to never see his home again, never see his aunt and his friends, never see Maes and Riza. But in each of those times he'd thought he'd be dead and therefore unaware of the loss. Roy's never been religious and he doesn't believe in any afterlife; he thinks he'll live until he dies and then he'll just stop, and that's fine with him. He doesn't need the promise of eternal paradise or the threat of eternal damnation as motivation. But this is worse in a way because he's not dead; he's alive and homesick and he has no choice but to bear the unbearable.

He does want to go home, with every fiber of his being. The want is threaded through every breath, in every second of every day, lurking beneath his thoughts, pulsing with the beating of his heart. He wants to go _home_.

But he also wants Levi.

That's a truth too and it's hardly any easier to accept. Roy thought when he was young that he might fall in love like his parents had; he'd imagined himself married with a family, because that's what everyone tells young children they ought to want. But he'd grown up in Aunt Chris's house which was filled with love but none of it between people who were married, and Roy had eventually decided he didn't need to be married to have a family. And then he'd had gone to Ishval and any hope he'd had for love had died there, buried under a ton of sand mixed with ashes. If there was love to be had in the world, Roy was sure it wasn't meant for him; he wasn't like Maes, who had somehow come out of the war with his heart bruised but still fundamentally whole.

Roy had still tried for love a few times, out of some strange buried compulsion maybe, or just a distaste for being alone, but none of his relationships ever lasted long, and why would they? How could they? Roy's a wreck. All the important parts of him are broken, and he hides it — poorly — with overwork and excessive drink and a pretty smile.

So this thing with Levi has been and remains a mystery. Roy slept with Levi that first night because he'd been off-balance and lost and terrified, and fucking pretty strangers is how he copes. He'd still been expecting to find some alchemists here somewhere; he'd expected to be gone within days or weeks. He hadn't been looking to stumble into a relationship. He'd hadn't been looking to fall in love.

He's been quiet for too long. Levi puts his glass down, the drink inside it hardly touched, and places his hand carefully over Roy's, kneading the ugly lump of twisting scar tissue that stretches across the back. The scar is the width of Bradley's blade but wider, because Roy had struggled to free himself, twisting against the steel, wrecking his nerves so thoroughly he'd have lost all use of both hands if not for Marcoh and the philosopher's stone.

Levi's touch is tentative. Touching outside of sex isn't something they do a lot of beyond what's necessary, Levi helping Roy up from the ground when he's crashed or patting him on the shoulder when he hasn't. Roy isn't sure whether he's to blame or not. He's never considered himself a particularly tactile person; Maes was an inveterate hugger, enveloping Roy (and everyone else) with both arms and squeezing tight and Roy could tolerate it well enough. It didn't make him feel claustrophobic or uncomfortable, at least, unlike Riza, who usually holds herself so apart it's like she has an invisible bubble of space around her that no one can penetrate.

Levi isn't as bad as Riza, but he's always so tentative when reaching out, like he's not sure his touch will be welcome. That's an idea Roy needs to disabuse Levi of in the strongest possible terms. Roy is already so broken, he can't fall apart any further. Roy turns his hand over and threads his fingers through Levi's, squeezing briefly.

Levi squeezes back and they sit for a moment, Levi staring at their clasped hands in a kind of fascination, like maybe this thing between them is just as surprising to him as it is to Roy. "If I could help you get home, I would," he says slowly, words slipping out like they're escaping of their own accord. "If there was a way, I'd help." And then he squeezes Roy's hand again, involuntary and sudden like a flinch.

"I know you would," Roy says. _And I love you for it._ That thought, he keeps to himself.

* * *

Roy misses Amestris sometimes, aches with the loss. Levi knows, because Roy gets sad and small and quiet, hiding himself away with his notebook, writing letters he knows won't ever get delivered to people he knows he won't ever see again. Levi doesn't ask what's in the letters. Levi doesn't say anything at all. He understands the kind of grief that's hushed and throbbing, the sort of pain that just wants to be left alone and nursed in silence.

It's only gotten worse since Roy has determined he won't ever get home. Levi would have expected the opposite, that letting go of hope would allow Roy to move on, and maybe it will, eventually. But right now, he's mourning. Levi lets Roy have that time when he needs it. He's not sure what other choice there is anyway.

"It's Riza's birthday today," Roy says on one of these days, when he's spent the morning sitting at Levi's small table, head down over his notebook, writing in a language no one else here can understand. It's the first thing he's said since waking red-eyed and miserable.

Levi has been scrubbing the slats of the radiator, the action rhythmic and mindless, almost meditative. "Is it?" He keeps his voice quiet, non-intrusive. He's not even sure Roy meant to speak out loud. Sometimes on days like this, Roy won't say a word to anyone; he'll spend the day in silence from morning until night, not eating, just drinking, and he'll fall into bed drunk and wretched. But he'll be fine the next day and Levi's learned that there's no point trying to coax him into doing anything else when the mood takes him this way.

But Roy nods. "I've been writing down the days," he whispers, like he's admitting a shameful secret. "If time moves the same here and there, then today is her birthday." He looks up, and his expression is broken. Levi's stomach lurches. "I meant to make a party for her," Roy says lowly. "A … _was ist … überraschung?_ If she doesn't know about it?"

"Surprise," Levi says. "A surprise party."

"Surprise," Roy repeats. "She'd hate it, I think. She's never liked surprises, not since I met her."

Levi puts down the scrub brush and carefully slips the mask off his face, rising to his feet and crossing the room, approaching slowly like Roy's a wounded animal. "Why doesn't she like surprises?"

Roy shrugs. His eyes drift over to the bottle of liquor on the table but he doesn't move to pour himself another glass. "She likes to be in control," he says. "She always did, even as a girl. Her father was … he wasn't a nice man. Not … he didn't hit her or keep her locked away or … or _verhungert?"_

"Starve," Levi says automatically.

"Starve," Roy repeats. "He didn't starve her. But he wasn't nice to her. She was like a … _dienerin_? Someone who worked for him in the house."

"Servant."

"Servant. Not like a daughter. She cooked and cleaned for him, did his laundry, took care of the house. If she didn't, he would have lived in dirt. Probably he wouldn't even have eaten. All that was important to him was alchemy." Roy lifts his tumbler, frowns at finding it empty, then pours himself another drink which he downs in one swallow.

Levi isn't keeping track of how much Roy's had to drink today, but the level of alcohol in the bottle is noticeably lower than it was this morning. "Is that how you met her? Because of alchemy?"

Roy nods. "Her father was my teacher. He liked me." Then he grimaces, wryly. "Perhaps 'like' is not right. I don't think he liked anyone. _Toleriert?"_

"Tolerated."

"He tolerated me. I was a good enough student for him, but really I think he just needed the money, and my aunt could, _ahm_ , she had enough to pay him. He was a bad father but a good teacher."

Levi risks sitting down at the table. He moves the liquor just out of Roy's reach, casually, like it's in his way. Roy makes a face but doesn't comment. "So Riza does alchemy too?" Levi asks tentatively. He feels like he should know already, but Roy so rarely talks about his previous life. What little Levi knows of Roy's past, he's mostly gleaned from the bits and pieces Roy's dropped when he's drunk.

Roy shakes his head. "No. Alchemy is not … most people can't do it. It's … we say it lies in the family. You understand?"

"Like eye color," Levi says. "Sure."

Roy nods. "If a parent can do alchemy, it's more likely the child can do it also, but not always. Our scientists don't know why some people can do it and some can't. Riza couldn't. She can't sense the energy at all." The expression on his face slips back to sad then, and his eyes flit to the bottle. But he doesn't pour himself another drink, which Levi thinks is progress even if it may be transient.

"When's your birthday?" Levi asks. He doesn't know his own and never much cared one way or the other, but he's aware that they matter to some people; crucially, birthdays seem important to Roy.

Roy looks up, brow slowly furrowing, then he shrugs one shoulder. "I'm not sure of the date in your calendar. It's in two of my months, but your months are shorter."

Levi's taken aback. "What do you mean? Your months aren't the same as ours?"

"No. We have twelve," Roy murmurs. He sits up a little straighter. "The year is the same number of days, but we divide it differently."

Levi is disconcerted, though he's not entirely sure why. "Twelve months? Why twelve?"

"I don't know, that's just how it is. Why does your year have more than twelve months?"

That's a ridiculous question, Levi thinks. "Because that's how many there _are_ ," Levi says, as if it's obvious, which it _is_. "One month for every new moon."

"But that doesn't work," Roy says, a little annoyed now, which Levi thinks is better than depressed and self-pitying. "There isn't a perfect number of _mondzyklen_ in a year. Doesn't your winter become summer after many years?"

Sometimes, Levi is sure Roy must mean something entirely different than what he's saying, because the words don't make any sense the way he puts them together. "Summer is always summer," he says helplessly. "Summer is when it's hot. Winter is when it's cold."

Roy's mouth turns down into a scowl, like he's irritated that Levi is not getting his point. He probably _is_ irritated that Levi's not getting his point. "But this month, Heyannir. Did it used to be in the winter?"

Levi is baffled. "No." Honestly, Levi has never paid much attention to the calendar or to any particular date. Summer comes after spring comes after winter comes after fall, year after year after year, no matter what the calendar says. But Levi's pretty sure the months work correctly, because it's always hot in Heyannir and always cold in Mörsugur, and nobody's ever suggested it should be otherwise.

Roy scowls at him then turns back to his notebook, writing quickly and messily on a blank page. "Well," he says eventually, "it looks like my birthday is the fifteenth of Haustmanuther. Maybe. Unless your people put in extra days I don't know about."

"Put in extra days?" Levi has no idea what Roy means. Again. He is almost tempted to pour a drink for himself. "The days are the days. You can't add extra ones. Unless … can you do that with alchemy?"

It's Roy's turn now to stare at Levi in bafflement. Baffled is also better than drunk and depressed, even better than annoyed. "No. Add days? With alchemy? How?"

"I don't know. You can do all sorts of impossible things. Maybe you can make extra days too."

Roy's baffled expression slowly morphs into one that indicates he thinks Levi has quite possibly entirely lost his mind. "Alchemy can change one thing to another. Only, only things you can touch, like stone or wood or gas. Time isn't something you can touch. You can't change it."

Levi crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "How am I supposed to know what you can change or not?"

"Time is not a _thing_ ," Roy says mulishly. "You should realized."

"I should _have_ realized," Levi corrects, arch and pedantic, but Roy deserves it because he hasn't made this particular tense error in weeks, so he's just being petty and speaking poorly on purpose. Levi rises to his feet and strips off his gloves, then picks up the bottle of the liquor and puts it back in the cabinet. The cabinet doors close with a decisive click. "Come on. Let's go in to town. We can get some cake to celebrate Riza's birthday."

Roy flinches like Levi's punched him and sits very still for a moment, paralyzed. But then he shakes his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Liar. You haven't eaten all day. And Opa's Bakery makes the best _nonnevot_. You'll love it." Levi rarely seeks out sweets but he makes an exception for this one, although only in secret. Moblit would make his life a living hell if he ever found out, and it does not bear thinking about how Erwin would react. Erwin believes the perfect world would have no sugar in it whatsoever. No Titans, either, obviously, but also no sugar.

Roy stays seated for another moment. Another few moments, really, but then he sighs, slams his notebook shut and stands up, holding on to the table for a moment to catch his balance. "Riza doesn't like cake."

Levi hums, folding his apron and hanging it in the hall closet. "She doesn't sound like any fun at all."

This startles a laugh out of Roy, which makes something warm curl loosely in Levi's chest. "She's not."

Levi opens the door and stands there, waiting, while Roy fumbles his way into his boots. "It's a bit of a walk to the bakery," he says. "But worth it. You can tell me more about Riza on the way."

Roy breathes in and out. Levi can smell the liquor on Roy's breath, but he's not drunk, Levi thinks. And he's up and talking. Both of these things are better than Levi thinks he had any right to expect. "All right," Roy says, stepping out into the hall. "Tell me what you want to know."

"Everything," Levi answers honestly. "Tell me everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SapphireMusings wins the title ribbon again, having plucked this line out of one of the same paragraphs I chose to highlight for the summary. It was kismet.
> 
> No art this time, though I am tempted to see if I can find a picture of Moblit somewhere to play with. 
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone ... we are approaching the end of this horrible year. Looking forward to a brighter 2021!
> 
> Comments=love. As in, I love them. 😜


	12. The Ill-Tempered Klavier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy turns 32 and finally speaks to Command. Also, it rains. Roy does not like the rain.
> 
> Roy:  
> "But that isn't … just because a thing looks easy to you, it doesn't mean it's easy for true. _Tch_ , truly. To make people do what you want is difficult. If you say the wrong thing or look the wrong way, they'll do what they want, not what you want. You must be very careful." 
> 
> Levi:  
> Levi horrifies himself by leaning forward into Roy's touch, something that's perfectly acceptable when they are alone together in Levi's quarters, but less acceptable when they are out and about and someone could walk by and see them. Not that Levi has anything against touching Roy in public. Quite the opposite. He is fond of slapping Roy on his very touchable ass whenever the opportunity presents itself. But that is not so intimate as this.

Days pass as they do, some slow, some fast, but always one after the other, time moving on inexorably regardless of anyone's wishes. Because it is the summer and the weather is favorable, Erwin schedules missions every few weeks; Roy comes along every time, and fewer people die because Roy is there with his flame. But people do still die, because even with Roy and even with Levi, the Titans can at best be held back only temporarily. There are always more of them behind the next rise, and it takes only a moment's inattention for a Titan to swoop in and pluck someone off the ground. No matter how many the Scouts kill, more Titans are always lurking in the forests and the valleys.

That knowledge — that there are always more Titans — can be dispiriting. Levi has seen it break people. To him, it is just a basic fact of life, and knowing that his existence will likely end in the hands or jaws of a Titan makes him no less eager to go out and kill them while he's still alive to do so.

Roy seems equally eager to go out and kill Titans. He takes the ache of losing his home and spends it butchering as many Titans as he can. On the days they don't go out, which is most days, he takes that pain and twists it inward, turns it into a punishing drive to improve. He spends hours on the range testing new gear and hours more honing his alchemy to higher and higher levels of perfection. Levi has his own duties to attend to and isn't often at the training grounds, but Moblit fills him in: how far Roy is able to shoot his flame, at what temperature, and with what degree of precision. Even with no standard to gauge by, it's clear that Roy's skill is increasing. He could shoot flame 50 meters when he arrived; he's up to 75 now, and the flames are so hot that Hange can't find a thermometer that can withstand the heat.

The ODM gear remains the only real problem. Roy is reasonably competent at maneuvering, but he still cannot shoot his flame reliably while doing it. He's devised a lot of coping strategies, though, and he's quick enough that he can dispatch a Titan while standing on its shoulder and launch back into the air before the creature falls to the ground. It's good enough. More than good enough. Watching Roy try so hard makes Levi try harder too, and the Titans fall before them like insects.

They celebrate Roy's birthday in Haustmanuther. Because Roy is turning 32, they have a big party. Roy is somewhat bemused by this. In Amestris, apparently, they celebrate birthdays on the tens, and to a lesser degree on the fives, but not the eights, which Levi thinks is extremely strange. Eight is two time two times two. It's special. What's special about tens and fives? Levi tries to explain this to Roy, but Roy just stares back at him in confusion, and Levi gives up.

Of course, 32 is an extra special birthday because it's first middle age. Roy is always happy for a party, but he's somewhat horrified when Levi manages to explain why this party in particular will be so big. The concept of first middle age apparently doesn't exist at all in Amestris and Roy seems to take personal offense to the entire idea. He spends the hour before the party staring in the mirror checking for wrinkles and plucking out stray gray hairs.

"You're crazy," Levi tells him, standing in the doorway of the bathroom and watching with arms folded across his chest. "You have ten of them."

"I should have none," Roy says testily, leaning forward and pulling out another gray hair with tweezers that Levi usually reserves for removing splinters. Roy pulls back and squints at his reflection critically, turning his head from left to right and back again to see if the light is glinting off any silver strands. "It's your fault."

"Your gray hairs are my fault?"

"Not you only," Roy says, leaning close to the mirror again. "All of you here. First middle age." He grunts with disgust. "I didn't think 32 was old before now."

"It's not _old_. It's first middle age," Levi says, but all he gets for his patience is a nasty gesture. Levi gives up his futile attempts at mollification and goes to finish getting dressed, letting Roy suffer through his existential crisis alone. Levi dreads what will happen when Roy reaches second middle age at 40, a milestone Erwin is due to hit in a few months and is secretly angsting about.

The party is all Moblit's doing. Levi's only role is to keep Roy from getting involved in the planning, which turns out to require much more effort than Levi would have anticipated, because Roy loves party planning and anything of the sort; the more details for him to fuss over, the better. Moblit is an enthusiastic planner but not an especially organized one, and there would have been no cake at all if Dirk hadn't remembered it at almost the last second, requiring a frantic dash to town to pick something up from Opa's, which Nicklas had then had to decorate with icing Lotte had swiped from the mess hall.

Everyone brings presents, several of which are alcoholic and a few of which are interesting sex toys that have Roy blushing and Levi intrigued, and all in all the party is a big success. Levi gives his present to Roy later, in private: two new sets of gloves, crisp white cloth with ignition panels on the fingertips and arrays meticulously embroidered on the back in bright red thread. Levi had spent weeks doing the sewing in the middle of the night when Roy was asleep, using Roy's existing pair as a guide and hoping no special alchemy was necessary in the construction. Levi knows the ignition panels work because he's tried them out, but he's had no way to test the arrays themselves.

Roy's eyes go round when he sees the gloves; the first thing he does is try them out and to Levi's enormous relief they work perfectly. The second thing Roy does is tackle Levi to the bed and tear off his clothing. Because it is Roy's birthday, and because Levi is helpless to deny Roy anything, Levi doesn't even pretend to put up a struggle.

Before Levi realizes it, seven months have come and gone since Roy's arrival. Summer has given way to autumn, and the morning air is crisp and bracing, though the afternoons are still occasionally quite warm. Levi loves all the seasons in all their rhythmic, soothing variety. In the Underground, there is no weather to speak of; it is only either hot or cold. There is no sunshine, no rain but what slips through the grates from Above, and definitely no snow.

Military Command has been sniffing around after Roy every three weeks, reliable as a clock, because that's as long as they'll stay away after Erwin has sent them off. They are persistent, Levi will grant them that, and eventually they can be put off no longer. They demand to speak to Roy, and no excuse of poor language skills or injury or illness will work.

So Roy is set to speak to them in person one morning, and Levi will not be there, because Erwin won't let him attend. Levi curses and threatens but Erwin is implacable. "It's only a few low-level officers," he says, not even looking up from his desk, because he's a dick and likes to act like Levi is not worth his time. "You'll only make it worse." This assessment is undoubtedly accurate. Levi's never met a meeting he couldn't ruin. Still, Levi grumbles about it all day anyway, and Roy laughs at him about it over dinner and even in bed later on.

"I can speak for myself," he says, running his fingers up and down Levi's rib cage in a light fluttery pattern too gentle to tickle. "I promise I won't let them take me away."

Levi acquiesces only because he has no choice, and also because Roy's fingers on his body ought to be outlawed. Anyway, he can't very well force his way into the meeting, not if Erwin and Roy have both told him to stay out, and they have both done that explicitly. Well, he _could_ force his way in. Levi could force his way in almost anywhere. But he doesn't think Roy or Erwin would be appreciative or forgiving if he did it. So Levi contents himself with lurking outside the office where the meeting is taking place, glaring at the small entourage of military police who have accompanied the officers, calculating the best ways to overpower them, should they try to take Roy away with them by force.

His aggressive lurking is all for naught, of course, because the meeting lasts less than an hour and when it's over, nobody is trying to force anyone to go anywhere. The three officers emerge blinking into the light in the hall as if awakening from a long sleep, and when they see Levi standing there, they blink at him too, apparently too befuddled to feel threatened by his aggressive demeanor. Then the officers and police all take their leave without even stopping off in the accounting office to demand payment for some imaginary tariff or their time.

"What'd you do to them?" Levi demands, when Roy steps out a moment later. He's in uniform but underneath his jacket he's wearing that damn blue shirt, top button casually undone, and his hair is in a particularly artful state of disarray, tousled just so. Levi has to clench his hands into fists and shove them into his pockets before he does something embarrassing like reach out and touch.

"I didn't do anything to them," Roy says, shrugging. The fabric of his shirt glides with the movement, drawing Levi's eyes to the small triangle of visible skin, pale and perfect. Roy's wearing his gloves because of course he is; it's either ego or a threat or vanity. The arrays stitched on the back are eerie and alien-looking even after all this time; the salamanders seem to shift and breathe with each subtle movement of Roy's hands as Levi and Roy walk down the corridor. It would be easy to believe they were alive, if you didn't know better, Levi thinks. It'd be easy to believe that Roy had somehow captured the souls of two living fire demons and broken them to his will, caging them with thread of vibrant red.

"They looked like you ensorceled them," Levi says. "Um. Used magic to confuse them?"

Exasperation flashes briefly across Roy's face, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. "I've told you," he says, sighing. "Alchemy—"

"—isn't magic," Levi says. "I know. I didn't say you used magic. I said they looked like you had."

"Ah," Roy says after a moment. "I understand. But I did not need magic. They were easy to … _manipulieren_?"

"Same word. They were?" Levi has met a lot of officers from Command, and they are easy to bribe or else easy to threaten, usually, but not necessarily easy to manipulate.

"Yes," Roy says. He is very matter-of-fact about it. "They came to tell me I must go work in the city for one of the generals, but they were frightened, so they said 'must' but they meant 'please.' I had only to wave my hands at them every time they said it. On accident, you understand. Like this." He runs one hand through his hair, and the salamander etched on his glove seems to slither around. "And then I would ask them if they could say again what they had been saying, and they would … what is _wiederholen_? Oh yes, repeat. They would repeat it and I would wave my hand again." He laughs briefly as they enter the stairwell to go down and exit the building. "It's like training dogs, a little."

Levi bets it is. Not that he has much experience with dogs, but he's heard about them.

"It's so easy for you," Levi says, as they step out into the midday sun. It is just past noon, and the clouds that hovered all morning have obligingly parted — for Roy, Moblit would say, as if Roy could bend the sky to his will with alchemy or maybe just by wanting something badly enough. The sun's warmth is welcome; the morning had been dank and cold and the air is still unseasonably chilly.

They start down the path, which is covered with a carpet of red and orange leaves that swirl up in the occasional powerful gust of cool wind. The walkways are swept clean every morning, but the trees are undeterred and continue to shed. Dead leaves crunch beneath Levi's boots, a noise he will never admit to loving as much as he does.

"What is easy for me?" Roy asks, kicking through a pile of leaves with a faint smile on his face. His hair is now tousled by the wind more than by design, and he has stuffed his hands in his pockets against the chill, but somehow he only looks more rugged.

Levi is very tempted to gather up some leaves and throw them at Roy, the way he has seen children do to each other, but he restrains himself. "To make the officers do what you want. To make everyone do what you want. You don't even have to try."

As soon as he says it, Levi regrets having brought it up, because now that he hears the words, they sound offensive. But Roy just laughs, the sound bright and bold, reflecting like sunlight off a few small puddles of water that dot the path. "It isn't easy," he says. "But I am … hmm, _geschmeichelt_? … that you think so."

" _Gesch_ what?"

"Ah. It's when you say something nice, and I'm happy to hear it."

"Flattered," Levi says. "And what do you mean, it isn't easy? Everyone always does what you want them to do."

Roy makes a face at him. "They do not _always_."

Levi bites his tongue to stop himself from saying 'almost always.'

"Also," Roy says, slipping into the lecturing tone he sometimes uses when he is explaining alchemy to people, factual without any of the condescension that is always present when Erwin (for instance) is the one making the speech. "Just because it looks easy to you, doesn't mean it is. You know. It's like how you make cleaning look easy."

Levi stops in place and stares at Roy, who takes another few steps before he realizes Levi has stopped. Roy turns around, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Cleaning _is_ easy," Levi says. "That's what I like about it." At least, that is one of the things he likes about it. He also likes the fact that when he is done, whatever it is that he has been cleaning, is clean. And that it is simple and meditative. In fact, he muses, there are many good reasons to like cleaning. He keeps them to himself, though, aware enough to realize that most people do not share his opinion on the matter.

Roy, in this, is one of 'most people.' "Cleaning is not easy," he says. "Cleaning is hard … hmm. Hard work on the body. On the knees and the back. And the, the _chemikalien_ , they smell bad. And they make your skin dry like paper. And there is always more dirt, no matter how much of it you wash away."

Roy looks entirely sincere. Levi stares at him, trying to decide if he's just bullshitting. Levi understands that most people don't think cleaning is fun the way he himself does, but that doesn't make it _hard_. Roy stands there patiently and lets himself be observed. Mostly Levi thinks Roy just likes being stared at.

"You're bullshitting," Levi finally concludes aloud. "You can't think cleaning is actually hard."

"You don't know what I think," Roy says reproachfully. "Only Zöe can tell what thoughts are in my brain. But that isn't … just because a thing looks easy to you, it doesn't mean it's easy for true. _Tch_ , truly. To make people do what you want is difficult. If you say the wrong thing or look the wrong way, they'll do what they want, not what you want. You must be very careful." Then he reaches out to brush a leaf out of Levi's hair, gloved fingers slipping lightly against Levi's scalp where the undercut is short and fresh. "It's cold today," he says. "You should have on a hat. You'll make yourself sick."

Levi horrifies himself by leaning forward into Roy's touch, something that's perfectly acceptable when they are alone together in Levi's quarters, but less acceptable when they are out and about and someone could walk by and see them. Not that Levi has anything against touching Roy in public. Quite the opposite. He is fond of slapping Roy on his very touchable ass whenever the opportunity presents itself. But that is not so intimate as this. "If anyone around here is going to get sick," he says, "I think we both know that it will be you."

Roy scowls and drops his hand, which is disappointing but also a relief. "Surely I have caught all the … what is _krankheiten_? When you are sick, you have a … what is the word?"

" _Zietke,"_ Levi says, and watches the way Roy's brow furrows on cue, the way it always does when a word pops up that seems to bear no relation to anything Roy's familiar with. "And you haven't caught all the diseases, no."

"I feel like I am sick all the times. Time. I was never so sick in Amestris."

"You haven't been sick that often," Levi says. "And you get better quickly."

Roy makes a disgusted noise and starts walking again. "You have too many, hmm, _keime_ here."

Levi falls behind in the second it takes him to decide that he has no idea what Roy is talking about. "What are _keime_?"

Roy's brow furrows again. Levi tries hard not to find it cute, and fails. " _Ahm, bakterien_?" At Levi's blank look, Roy says, "They are, they're the small bugs that make you sick." He pinches his thumb and forefinger together tightly. "Very small."

Levi just stares at him. "Small bugs make you sick?"

Roy hesitates. "Yes? You don't know this here?"

Now it's Levi's turn to hesitate. He doesn't normally find his lack of formal education to be much of a handicap. There's nothing he needs to know to function in the Scouts that he would have learned in a book or a classroom. But sometimes, faced with Roy's dozen or more years of schoolroom learning, Levi feels like a bit of a dolt. And the thing is, Levi really doesn't have any idea why people get sick, except that he assumes being dirty has something to do with it. The thought that it's actually little bugs is kind of nauseating. "I don't," he says eventually, trying not to think of tiny bugs creeping around carrying diseases with them, and … what? Biting people? Burrowing into their skin? Maybe getting eaten by accident? His stomach clenches. "Maybe other people do."

Roy glances at him sideways, speculative, and a strange little smile flits across his face at whatever expression Levi is making.

"I'm sure no bugs make _you_ sick," he says, a glint in his eye and laughter just out of reach in his voice. "They wouldn't dare. And they could not .. _tch_ , they couldn't survive your cleaning."

Levi is not entirely sure of this, but since he knows nothing about tiny bugs bringing sickness, and because he cleans very, very well, he accepts the peace offering as if it were truth. He follows Roy as he turns down the path toward the mess hall. It's past lunchtime, but there will be some kind of food left, and it will undoubtedly be better than whatever Levi's got tucked away in his quarters. It will at the very least be hot. "So, do you think they'll leave you alone now?" he asks.

"The bugs? I hope so."

Levi glares. "Command."

"Ah. For a little while, perhaps. The men who came today were scared of me, but they'll go back and speak to their _vorgesetzten_. _Ahm_ , wait, I know this … what is it? … ah, superiors. And their superiors won't be so easily scared."

Roy's tone is mild, unperturbed. He seems a lot more bothered by the prospect of getting sick again than facing an unending barrage of visits from Command officers determined to remove him from the Survey Corps.

"It will be fine, Levi," Roy says, pulling open the door to the mess hall and leading him to the food line. "I have been, _ahm_ , I don't know how to say it. I was in the Amestrian military for almost 15 years. I know how they are thinking. You don't need to worry for me." He strips his gloves off and shoves them in his pockets, then takes a tray off the pile and starts loading up food, as many vegetables as he can get his hands on, out of some crazy idea he has that green foods will keep him from getting sick. "Anyway, if it becomes a problem, I can just …" He snaps his fingers and shrugs.

Levi frowns at him and grabs his own tray, forgoing the vegetables in favor of a still-steaming bowl of stew and a generous hunk of bread. "You're joking, right?"

Roy just smirks at him. Which isn't really very comforting at all.

* * *

At the very end of autumn, there is a stretch of warmer weather. False summer, they call it, even though it is hardly as warm as that, but the respite from Ýlir's otherwise cool temperatures is welcome. Towards the end of the week, it rains long and hard enough to wash away the last of the rotting, dirty leaves littering the ground, and the base looks clean and smells fresh.

Levi likes rain almost as much as he likes snow, but rain makes Roy restless and irritable. Levi finds this mildly bemusing. Just because it's raining doesn't mean they don't train on the gear; Titans don't care about the weather, so everyone in the Corps needs to know how to handle themselves under all conditions. But they never really push it on a rainy day, and everyone is always back inside in dry clothes by lunch, looking forward to an easy afternoon.

Roy doesn't feel the same way, apparently. Without exception, rainy days turn him broody and ill-tempered; snappish and not quite entirely pleasant to be around. People tend to avoid him when the dark clouds roll in, though Levi doesn't. Levi has his own occasional fits of ill temper — according to some people, it would be more accurate to say that he has occasional fits of _good_ temper — and he likes to think his presence helps soothe whatever demons plague Roy when the weather turns foul.

This afternoon is particularly bad. The rain has been pelting non-stop since the early morning, and a chilly breeze is blowing, heralding the colder temperatures Mörsugur will bring next week. The air is brisk and damp, and everyone unlucky enough to be stuck on the training ground in the morning had gotten drenched, including Roy. Worse, Roy had missed-timed an easy maneuver and landed messily in a puddle of mud, which had done nothing to improve his mood. Two hours later, even after bathing and having hot stew for lunch, he's still grumpy and too restless to concentrate on anything — his journals are scattered across the table askew and forlorn like the discards after a round of troeven. Roy's abandoned his efforts at whatever he'd been working on and is pacing back and forth, rubbing fitfully at the scars on his hands and muttering under his breath in Amestrian. He hasn't yet pulled out the alcohol but Levi thinks it's coming soon.

"Hey," Levi says after about 15 minutes of Roy's hostile stalking around the living room. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"It's raining," Roy says sourly.

"Yeah, I know," Levi says, rising to his feet and stripping off his mask and cleaning gloves, "but Erwin wants me to go check out one of the older buildings and see if we can convert it to usable office space."

Roy looks at him suspiciously, but Levi holds up his hands in abject innocence. "I swear. I can show you the memo." There is in fact a memo, though Levi hopes Roy won't actually demand to see it, since it's dated at least a year ago, following an incident when Levi had done something to piss Erwin off, and Erwin had out of spite assigned him this shit duty that Levi has since then willfully ignored. "You said you used to do this sort of stuff," Levi wheedles. "To rebuild, um, what's it called, Ishval."

"Yes," Roy says, though he doesn't look any less suspicious of Levi's motives. He puffs out some air, exasperated for some reason Levi can't quite fathom, then says 'fine' grumpily. His mood doesn't improve much when they're crossing the courtyard in the downpour, and he keeps his hands firmly in his pockets the whole time, which either means something or doesn't … Levi doesn't know and isn't going to ask.

Once they are inside the empty building, though, Roy's expression clears: maybe having something concrete to do is all he really needs. It's funny because Roy isn't the sort who needs to be busy every moment. The opposite, really. He's actually a little bit lazy whenever he's given the opportunity to be, but maybe he's just been having a particularly rough time today with the rain and needs the distraction.

"What was this place?" Roy asks, as they scrape the mud off their boots. He pulls a glove out of his pocket and unceremoniously lights both their torches with a snap of his fingers. Seeing it still makes Levi's heart flip, every time, even as the transmutation energy prickles up and down his spine. "I didn't understand what you called it."

"Administration," Levi says. "Just offices for the military police when they still had a station here. But they moved out years ago. Mostly we've been keeping junk here. Um, things we don't use anymore, or things that are broken. Stuff we should probably just get rid of but we haven't yet."

Roy mouths the word 'junk' to himself, then nods. He looks around the lobby with an analytical eye. It's rare that Levi gets to see this other side to him, even though he knows that Roy's job during peacetime in Amestris didn't often call for him to use his alchemy, and that he was actually some kind of mid-level bureaucrat who dealt with a lot of paperwork.

"The first thing is do is to … _identifizieren_? … each thing."

"Identify," Levi says. "Same word. But"—He scans the room with apprehension. There is crap everywhere, and this is just one room on the first floor—"Wouldn't it be easier just to burn it all?"

Roy laughs. "Easier, yes, probably, but some may be, hmm, _wertvoll?_ "

"Valuable?" Levi looks around dubiously. "It's all junk."

"Not valuable to you, maybe," Roy says. "But to other people in the city, perhaps. The Corps never has enough money. Maybe you can sell some of it."

"I think it'd be easier to just burn it," Levi says, but the battle is probably already been lost because Roy is jotting down notes on a piece of paper he'd materialized from somewhere. Maybe he'd transmuted some of the dust, which is an intriguing cleaning strategy worth pursuing later. Of course, getting Roy out of his head and interested in something had been the entire point of this little expedition, but in retrospect, maybe Levi should have taken him somewhere that wasn't quite so dusty.

Hours later, Levi is filthy, coughing, and tired, far past ready to leave and regretting the impulse that had brought them here at all. He's been moving junk around for Roy all afternoon, sorting things according to some confusing classification scheme Roy has worked out that Levi can't quite comprehend, not that he's put much effort into trying. Roy seems to enjoy bossing him around and Levi is content enough to let him do it, although he is reaching his limit.

Levi shoves a crate into a corner, wipes his hands on his pants and heads back down the hall to find Roy. "This is the last room," he says firmly. "We don't have to do the whole building today"—realistically, it's going to take weeks—"and it must be almost dinner time."

"It's only three o'clock," Roy says, checking his fancy pocket watch. Then he bends back down over his latest find, humming under his breath.

"What's that?" Levi asks apprehensively, wondering if he's going to have to drag it to Roy's reject pile. It's some kind of cabinet, he thinks, though it's short and oblong and peculiarly shaped. It looks heavy as fuck.

Roy straightens up, looking oddly pleased. "A _klavier_. I didn't know you had them here."

Levi has never heard that word, but he can't be sure if that's due to a language problem or not, because whatever the thing is, it doesn't look remotely familiar. "What does it do?"

"It's a musical instrument." Roy runs his fingers along the small black and yellow rectangles at the front of the cabinet; the strange discordant tinkling noise that comes out makes him wince. "But it's very _verstimmt_." He must have seen the confusion on Levi's face because he adds, "It doesn't sound right. The, the notes? They're wrong."

Levi's knowledge of musical instruments begins and ends with the horn Mike sometimes uses to wake up the camp when they're on an overnight expedition. "Are we getting rid of it?"

A brief look of horror flits across Roy's face, and his hand clenches convulsively on the klavier's wooden frame. "No! I can fix it, if it's not too badly broken inside. But I'll need a fork."

Levi blinks. "A fork?"

"To fix the notes," Roy says. "Not a fork for eating."

Levi isn't quite sure how a fork will help fix notes, but he presumes someone who knows more about music than Levi — which would be almost anyone — might have a better idea. "I'll go ask Mike," he says. "You'll be all right here?"

Roy already has his head stuck back deep in the innards of the klavier, and just lifts a hand in an absent-minded wave goodbye.

"You mean a tuning fork?" Mike asks, after Levi has explained the situation to the best of his ability.

Mike runs his hands over his eyes, shaking himself a little more fully awake. Some people take extra liberties on their rainy days, but Mike is worse than most. True, Levi had taken a little extra time to clean his quarters after lunch, but he'd had every intention of going to his office to get some work done before he'd decided instead to deal with the old building first to soothe Roy's temper. Mike would probably have slept the entire afternoon away. Levi doesn't feel at all guilty for interrupting his nap.

Meanwhile, Levi has no idea what a tuning fork is. "Maybe? He said he needed a fork to fix the notes." It still sounds stupid to him.

Mike is rustling through his drawers, one after the other, scowling at whatever it is he's finding instead of what it is he's looking for. "I don't have one. You don't need a tuning fork for a trumpet. Does Roy really think he can fix the piano?"

Klavier, it turns out, is just another name for a piano, which is an instrument Levi has at least heard of, if never seen. "That's what he said. But he needs the fork. I don't know why he doesn't just make one with alchemy."

"It probably wouldn't be accurate enough to tune to, if he doesn't have perfect pitch to test it. And if he had perfect pitch, he wouldn't need a fork in the first place." Mike ducks back inside his bedroom and comes out a minute later with a black case. "Lotte has a pitch pipe she uses for her fiddle. That'll probably be good enough."

Levi nods as if he had any idea what Mike is talking about. "You don't need to come with me. I'm on perfectly civil terms with Lotte."

"Are you kidding? If Roy can really tune that piano? You couldn't keep me away if you ordered me."

Levi is certain he could in fact keep Mike away, order or not, without even injuring him too much, but since Mike is perfectly aware of that, Levi doesn't bother contradicting him.

By the time they make it back to the old administrative building, their number has swelled to five: Mike with his trumpet, Lotte with her pitch pipe and fiddle, Anke with a strange looking tube she called a 'clarinet,' and Jan with a long wooden flute. Jan had been with Lotte when Mike and Levi had knocked on Lotte's door, and both of them had been so excited to hear the news about the piano that they'd insisted on bringing Anke, who had actually screeched when they'd told her.

Levi had previously had no idea any of these people except for Mike played any instruments, and he doesn't quite understand why they are all so thrilled at the prospect of Roy fixing the piano, but they're chattering among themselves, animated and cheerful, and Levi has to admit that it's nice being surrounded by people in such a good mood, with no one even thinking about Titans.

In Levi's absence, Roy has conjured up another dozen torches, and the room is blazing with light and quite warm. Roy is seated cross legged on the floor, stripped down to his undershirt in deference to the heat, staring intently at a strange looking lever in his lap and making some kind of adjustment to it. The ozone tang of transmutation hangs heavy in the air, pungent and alien even after all these months.

Roy looks up at Levi's approach, then blinks a little when he sees so many people crowding into the room. He must have been deeply lost in concentration. He's usually hard to sneak up on. A smear of ash or grease runs messily across his cheek, distractingly off-kilter.

"Levi," Roy says. The smear of grease moves across his cheek as he smiles. "That was fast."

"I've been gone an hour," Levi says.

Roy blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Really. No one has a tuning fork but Lotte has a pitch pipe." He pronounces the words carefully. He's not entirely sure what they mean. The little machine Lotte had brought with her didn't look like a pipe at all to Levi, but he obviously is out of his depth here.

" _Stemfluit_ ," Roy repeats slowly. His expression brightens. "Oh, _stimmpfeife_ , of course. Yes, that will work too."

Mike is peering into the klavier/piano, just looking, not touching. He seems impressed by whatever it is he sees.

"You really can fix it," he says wonderingly. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"My aunt," Roy says, turning his attention back to the felt-covered lever on his lap. "She had a klavier, and I learned to play for many years. Ten years, maybe, from when I was little to when I stopped growing." He rises smoothly to his feet, bends over the piano, and puts the lever back in place with a little bit of maneuvering. "But it wasn't a good instrument. It couldn't hold the notes well, maybe only for a few weeks. It cost many money … no, _much_ money, to always have the man come, so she made me learn to … is it _stemmen_?"

"Yes," Mike says. "To tune it. And we call it a piano, not a klavier."

"Piano," Roy repeats dutifully. He reaches down and makes some adjustments inside the instrument that Levi can't see. "I tuned the klavier … the piano … many times. I always thought I could do it when I was grown. For a job, you understand?" He shrugs. "But then I learned alchemy and went to the military."

Levi cannot imagine that Roy would ever have been truly satisfied tuning pianos all day, but he can see how it might be satisfying to have a job with concrete goals, where all that is necessary for success is patience and a care for details, something that you can do well and _know_ that you've done well; a job with no uncertainty; a job with a simple binary state of affairs at the end of the day: the piano is either in tune or not.

"It's easier to fix it with alchemy," Roy says, from where he is buried deep inside the piano, "but it feels like I'm … what's the word … _betrügen_? If you play a game but do something that isn't allowed?"

"Cheating," Levi said. "But you're not. You're just being efficient."

Roy laughs, and the sound bounces around the chamber of the piano. He stands up and rubs at his neck, probably leaving a smear of dust there to match the one on his cheek. Levi will check later, in private. "This will take a little while," Roy says. "I still have many things to fix before I can tune it. You don't all need to stay."

"I'm staying," Mike says immediately, and Lotte and Anke and Jan all nod fiercely. Jan and Anke start pulling over some chairs from a corner of the room, and Lotte dredges up an old dust cloth to wipe the seats down.

Roy glances at Levi. Roy looks relaxed, happier than Levi has seen him all day, perhaps happier than Levi has seen him in several days, even with grease across his cheek and dust in his hair and broken piano pieces in his hands. " _You_ don't need to stay. I saw all the reports Erwin left on your desk yesterday."

"Fuck Erwin," Levi says automatically, earning a scandalized gasp from Lotte, Anke and Jan, who don't socialize with Levi much, and a snort from Mike, who socializes with Levi plenty. Levi rubs at his eyes, which are itching from all the dust. The thing is, Erwin _had_ left him a lot of work to do, and as much as he is perfectly content to ignore the stupid shit assignments, some of them are neither stupid nor shitty, and Levi had intended all along to attend to the important ones today, before he'd gotten sucked in to playing pack mule for Roy. And he would not be leaving Roy alone to mope; Roy is obviously enjoying himself, and he is good friends with Mike and Lotte. He's probably friends with Jan and Anke too; or, if not, he will be friends with them by the end of the afternoon because that's just how he is.

"All right," Levi says after another moment. He brushes some of the dirt off his uniform, for all the good it does. "I'll leave you to your piano tuning. Meet me for dinner later?"

"Mmm hmm," Roy says distractedly. He is already buried back in the piano, pointing something out to Mike. From this angle, all Levi can see of them is their asses. Mike's ass is nothing to be ashamed of, but Roy's is sublime. Levi ogles for another minute, just because he can. No one is paying him a bit of attention: Roy and Mike are engrossed in the piano, and Lotte, Anke and Jane are off in the corner digging out some more chairs, stirring up clouds of dust.

Levi takes his leave, unremarked.

* * *

The afternoon's physical labor leaves Levi exhausted and aching in strange places from the unaccustomed exertion. It turns out training on the ODM gear is no preparation for lugging furniture and loads of crap from room to room. His clothing is filled with dust that makes him sneeze fitfully on and off throughout the rest of the afternoon, and he actually falls asleep at his desk in the middle of writing up one of the reports for Erwin. It's well into evening by the time he wakes back up with a crick in his neck and ink on his nose. He's slept through dinner in the mess, but Roy hasn't come to find him, so that means Roy has missed it too. Which is fine, really. All Levi wants at this point is to go back to his quarters and eat and bathe, not necessarily in that order.

Eating wins out, but only because the water in the bathing bucket is like ice, and now that Levi's gotten spoiled by bathing with alchemically heated water, the prospect of rinsing off with cold water is exceedingly unappealing, especially after the soaking he'd gotten in the morning's rain. He takes the bucket to the kitchen and puts it on the stove to warm, then cuts himself a piece of bread and some cheese, carefully trimming off the green bits and saving them for Dr. Jansen, who has some peculiar theory about mold being healthy and collects samples from all the officers senior enough to have their own kitchens.

Roy is still not back when Levi has finished eating and washed, dried and put away the dishes, so Levi spends a few meditative hours scrubbing the stove, which has been lamentably unattended for weeks. Then he cleans his uniform, carefully rubbing out all the afternoon's dust and grime. Then he irons it for good measure, smoothing out every last wrinkle in the cloth until the uniform looks as fresh as it did the day he got it.

By now it's well past midnight and Levi is starting to wonder whether Roy is going to come back at all, or if he'd gotten so deep into fixing the piano that he'd lost all track of time, which he might have, if Mike and the others had left and Levi wasn't there to remind him to do little things like eat and go to the bathroom. Another hour passes slowly and quietly, the officers' barracks dark and quiet, no movement in any of the rooms above or below or on either side. Levi has moved on to polishing his boots, which he'd cleaned earlier but had been unacceptably scuffed. The shoe polish is black and smelly and reminds Levi very viscerally of Kenny, who used to spend hours on his own boots every Sunday night, scrubbing off the muck and grime of the Underground.

Levi is buffing out a particularly stubborn scuff when Roy knocks at the door, a distinctive little rhythm that makes Levi's stupid heart skip a beat every time he hears it.

"It's open," Levi calls. He wipes off the excess polish around the boot's heel and scrapes it carefully back into the little tin.

"You're awake," Roy says as he enters the living room, sounding pleased if not particularly surprised. "I thought you might be tired from all that lifting today."

"I am tired," Levi agrees. He doesn't mention how sore he is or that he took a nap by accident. "But it's only 1:30. Did you eat? There's some bread and cheese in the kitchen."

"Floris brought some food from the mess," Roy says, kicking off his shoes. He shucks his filthy uniform jacket and heads directly into the bathroom. "I need to wash. There is still mud in my hair from this morning." He sounds very put out about it, which isn't much of a shock: Roy is very particular about his hair, at least as much as Levi; it takes him quite a while every morning to attain the state of artful dishevelment he prefers, and when he gets his hair cut he is fussy and exacting about the bangs.

Levi hauls himself to his feet, biting back a curse as his thighs twinge in complaint, and heads for the bathroom, which is really too small for two, but possesses a doorway well-suited to lurking. "Floris was there?"

Roy has stripped efficiently, already down to his breeches, which cling nicely to his ass and do very little to hide anything else worth looking at. He pulls on an ignition glove and snaps his fingers a few times in quick succession, aiming several short bursts of carefully controlled flame at the water bucket. "Mmm. He plays the violin. Not so well, in honest, but he likes it."

"Sounds like a real party," Levi says, trying not to stare too obviously as Roy soaps up his chest, not because Roy would mind being ogled, but to avoid inflating his ego any further. "Did you have fun?"

"Mmm," Roy hums, rinsing off. "Yes. It was nice. I didn't know any of the music, of course, but it wasn't so different from what I'm used to. It was easy to learn. We played many different songs, and Lotte sang. She has a very pretty voice."

To think that earlier in the day, Levi had no idea that these people played any musical instruments, much less that any of them sang. "Did you sing too?"

Roy blanches, stopping in the middle of scrubbing off his forearms, a sight that never fails to make Levi's mouth go dry, because fuck, when Roy _flexes .._. "No," Roy says, a little more vehemently than Levi might have expected, still frozen in mid-scrub. His biceps are bulging. Levi swallows with some difficulty. "No, that would be …" Roy shakes his head firmly. "No."

Levi wonders if Roy is really such a bad singer as to make the very idea of singing horrifying, or if he is just self-conscious because he doesn't do it as well as he thinks he should. Roy holds himself to ridiculously high standards in everything, and is reluctant to do things that he can't do well enough to brag about. Levi doesn't sing, himself, but he can hold a tune if he absolutely has to. He thinks he could, at least. He hasn't actually tried for a long time. There's some memory lurking there, he thinks uneasily, maybe a song his mother used to sing to him, and Kenny reacting badly when he'd caught Levi humming it once. Levi pushes that thought away and focuses again on Roy, who is now washing his hair, muscles tensing in very intriguing ways as he works his fingers through soapy strands of glossy black.

"I missed it," Roy says, when he'd rinsed off. Rivulets of water run down his cheeks and neck, slipping down to his chest and tracing the outlines of the muscles there. "I didn't know how much."

The sight of Roy's naked chest is utterly distracting and never fails to make Levi's mouth go dry, so he responds a beat too late. "Playing piano?" Of all the things for Roy to miss from his home, Levi have guessed banging away at a musical instrument would be towards the bottom of the list.

"Mmm," Roy says. He grabs a towel and starts drying off — hair first, roughly, then arms, then chest. The front of his breeches is damp where the water has run down the flat planes of his stomach. Levi hopes lasciviously that Roy will just take the breeches off, but has no such luck. At least not yet. Levi is still optimistic for later. "I played all the times — _puh_! — all the time _,_ when I was a boy. My aunt said if she was paying for a teacher for me then I had to practice. When I was older, 15 or 16, I would play in the bar and people would give me money for songs they wanted to hear. I could buy things I wanted, then, that my aunt wouldn't pay for me. Clothing, books, those things. Did you say there was bread in the kitchen?"

"And cheese," Levi says. "Oh, and I think a little jam."

Roy pads on damp feet to the bedroom to grab a clean undershirt from the supply he keeps in Levi's dresser, leaving shiny disappearing footprints on the floor, and Levi follows like he always does, like Roy is a magnet and Levi an iron shard. Then Roy heads to the kitchen and slices himself a generous piece of bread, dark and fragrant and only just starting to go stale. "Do you want some? It's so late it's almost time for breakfast."

"It's not _that_ late," Levi says, settling across the table. "I'll have a little."

Roy serves them both bread with butter and jam, a few slices of cheese, and also tea from the kettle Levi had left on a low flame.

"There was no time to play when I was in the academy," Roy says in between bites. Whatever food Floris had brought from the kitchen had clearly not been enough, because Roy hardly ever eats before bed. He has some crazy idea that eating at night will make him fat. Levi thinks the Amestrians have some strange beliefs. "All the days were studying and training, and more studying and training. And after the war I didn't want to play." His gaze goes a little distant, eyes shadowed.

Levi coughs, just loud enough to bring Roy back to the present before he gets trapped in the past. "So, you haven't played since the academy."

Roy makes some kind of noise, a low hum in his throat. He finishes up his snack and takes a sip of his tea, grimacing. Roy likes his tea piping hot, but his gloves are in the bathroom next to the sink and he's too lazy to go get them. "I didn't play for few years, but then after everything happened"—this is Roy's way of obliquely referencing the battle with the homunculi, when he'd been crucified and blinded—"the doctors said I needed to, to move my fingers a lot, so they would heal all the ways."

Levi nibbles at his own bread. He hadn't actually been hungry, but Roy doesn't like to eat alone. Drink, yes, whether anyone is there or not, but not eat. "I thought that doctor cured you with the magic rock."

"Philosopher's stone," Roy says, exasperated, even though he must know Levi was just teasing; any mention of magic in relation to alchemy is enough to set Roy off, but sometimes Levi can't help but do it anyway, just to see the face Roy makes in response. It's cute. "He healed the worst of the, the _verletzungen._ Where I was hurt."

"Injuries," Levi says.

"Injuries. But I wasn't all the ways better for a few months. I could see only a little bit — light, dark, big things. And my hands worked, but not very well. It was hard to move my fingers. They were, hmm, stiff."

Stiff is not so bad, Levi reflects, after having been impaled by swords. Had that injury happened to Roy here, he'd probably have lost the use of his hands altogether.

"I stayed with my aunt until my eyes were more better," Roy continues. "By then, she had a new klav—piano. It was better than the first one. I played many hours a day." Roy rubs his left hand with his right, squeezing hard, applying pressure to ease the ache that still bothers him sometimes, especially when the weather is bad. "I couldn't see the music, so I had to play only from memory, but I know many songs. You're not eating."

"I wasn't very hungry. Here."

Roy takes the cheese, because he will never turn down cheese, but he wraps the bread back up in paper. "I didn't say thank you before. Thank you."

"It's just bread and cheese."

"Not for the food," Roy says. "For before. For today, taking me to that building, because I … I know I'm difficult, sometimes."

Levi would not have used that word. Challenging, maybe, but Levi loves challenges. "You're no worse than I am."

Roy scoffs. "When you're in a bad mood, you're just very quiet. Quiet is easy. You're not …" He makes some vague restless motion with his hand, but doesn't even attempt to find a suitable word. He sips at his tea again. "Riza told me once," he says, "that I was _nutzlos_ in the rain."

" _Nutzlos_ ," Levi repeats blankly, until his brain catches up. "Oh, useless. Almost the same." Then he frowns, irritated. "You are not."

Roy shrugs, fingers playing with the paper-wrapped bread. The paper crinkles loudly. "My alchemy doesn't work in the rain. There's too much water in the air to make a good flame."

"That doesn't make you useless."

Roy grins, a quick flash of perfect white teeth. "You are … I don't know the word. You think too much good of me."

"I think exactly the right amount of good of you," Levi shoots back.

"Maybe," Roy says, though he doesn't look convinced. This is a side of Roy most people don't get to see. They see his charm and his confidence, his fully justifiable vanity. They don't get to see him doubting himself and vulnerable. "On that day, the day she said it, she was right. There was a man, a bad man. He was killing alchemists. He killed many people, and I … I couldn't stop him. Because of the rain." Roy looks up, and his expression is pensive, maybe a little guilty. "If we're fighting Titans in the rain, I'll be useless like I was that day."

Levi feels a chill at the thought of Roy fighting Titans with no fire alchemy, but keeps his expression neutral. They haven't had to deal with it yet only because Roy wasn't ready for expeditions until after the end of the rainy season, but the rains will come again with the spring thaw, and they will be too frequent then to hope to escape them on all missions. "You won't be useless. Isn't it only your flame alchemy that's affected by the rain? The other stuff — with the stone and earth and metal — that works fine, doesn't it?" Levi thinks Roy's ability to warp the fabric of the world around him might be a weapon even more powerful than his flame, but Roy is doesn't seem to believe that's true, or else he's simply that much more comfortable with fire.

"Yes," Roy says. "It works fine in the rain. But it's not"—He frowns, fingers still fiddling with the bread wrapper, gaze aimed off in the middle distance somewhere over Levi's shoulder—"I can't use stone alchemy when I am using the gear. Or metal or earth. I need to be touching it, you understand? I can't do it from far away." He drums his fingers on the table absently, then shakes his head. "No. It isn't … it isn't just that _I_ can't do it. No one can. That's why fire alchemy is so powerful. Air is all around."

"So, you would need to be on the ground."

"I would need to be on the ground," Roy agrees.

Levi feels a frown shape his mouth before he can stop it. He doesn't want to give Roy yet another excuse to stay down low. "Well," Levi says, still not quite willing to give up on other forms of alchemy, but conceding that at the moment, he can't make a very coherent argument in their favor, "you'll have your gear; you'll have your swords."

Roy makes a face. "I'm still not very good on the gear."

Levi leans back in his chair and shrugs, picking at the bread crumbs on his plate. "You're more than good enough. You can get around without puking your guts out. And you're fucking great with swords."

Roy's expression turns faintly skeptical, so Levi amends his statement. "You're very good with swords. Better than the recruits, anyway, and we let them fight."

Roy's eyebrows show what he thinks of _that_ decision. He has never taken up the point with Erwin, but he has expressed his displeasure on the matter to Levi many times, each time more vehemently and articulately. Levi doesn't have any interest in getting into this debate now. They've argued the point exhaustively, and while Levi understands Roy's reasoning, the fact of the matter is that the Corps has no other choice but to use all the resources at its disposal. Roy seems to take the issue very personally, more personally than he ought to, and Levi still doesn't quite understand Roy's aversion to teenage soldiers, other than that it has something to do with the mysterious Edward Elric, about whom Roy has a guilt complex roughly a hundred kilometers wide and twice again as deep.

Levi is not in the mood to push. It's getting late even by his skewed standards, and Roy is still in a relatively good mood, one that could improve or worsen with the right (or wrong) prompting. Levi has no intention of dimming Roy's mood. "Well," he says, standing up and bringing both plates over to the sink to rinse them off. "Even without your alchemy, I'd still rather have you at my side in a fight over anyone else here."

Roy huffs a little laugh and stands up also, taking the remaining cheese and storing it carefully back in the ice box, then putting the jam back in the pantry. He wipes down the table while Levi is drying the dishes and does a quick sweep of the floor, and then the kitchen is clean enough even for Levi. "You are," Roy says, dumping the few crumbs into the trash, " _ahm_ , what is the word? _Tch_ , I'm too tired to remember it. I told you before, you think too much good of me."

"And I told you before," Levi says, turning out the lamp and heading toward the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up, Roy close behind him, "that I think exactly the right amount of good about you." Levi could play this game all night, and would, except he has other, more satisfying games in mind.

"Hmm." It's Roy's turn now to lurk in the doorway while waiting for his turn at the sink, though he is much more attractive than Levi about it, cocking his hip just so and resting his head on the door jamb at an angle precisely calculated to showcase his inhumanly perfect cheek bones and stupidly lush eyelashes. "I think a lot of good about you too. Thank you for still thinking good of me, even when my … my head is bad."

Levi spits and rinses, then turns to examine Roy critically. "Your head," Levi says very clearly, "is never bad. You have a beautiful head."

Roy goes bright, beet red and straightens up, hips falling back into alignment. "That isn't what I meant."

Levi lets the hint of a grin play across his face. It's late, and there's no one else to see it but Roy, who will never tell anyone. "I know." He shuffles over to give Roy his turn at the sink, and if he doesn't quite get out of the way fast enough, and he has to brush right up against Roy, who's still in slightly damp britches and an undershirt with a collar that's worn and a little frayed, leaving exposed the patch of skin that is absolutely one of Levi's favorite spots in the whole world, and if Roy's breathing hitches when Levi's breath gusts warm and wet over that enticing little patch of skin, then … well. There's no one to see that either.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, and good riddance to 2020, the longest year in the history of years! I hope everyone has (or had, depending when you're reading this) a fabulous holiday, and that 2021 is a better year for all of us than this last one.
> 
> I realized only in retrospect that all the sections in this chapter are from Levi’s POV. Not sure how that happened, as I usually try to alternate. Ah well. The next chapter starts with Roy's POV.
> 
> Beta-reading credit to SapphireMusings, as always. Mwah!
> 
> Title: How often does one get to make Bach jokes when writing fanfiction? (Of course this might only be funny to people who, like me, spent years taking piano lessons. But I'm throwing it out there anyway.)
> 
> Art: On vacation, should be working on a different story, fiddled around with images instead even though I kind of swore after the last one that I was done. Coloring was more work than anticipated. It always takes longer than I think it will, but I'm happy with this one.
> 
> Comments = love and make my day, seriously. Drop a line and say hi!


	13. Alchemist unleashed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is actual plot. You thought it would never happen, but here it is. 
> 
> Roy:  
> "My war," Roy says, "was against people. And when I say I did many terrible things I don't mean that I punched a man or took a woman against her will or accepted money when I should not have. As I said, I was a good soldier. I followed my orders, and those orders were to kill." 
> 
> Levi:  
> Then he turns his head slightly and looks at Levi, who is caught in a weird state halfway between awe and arousal. Roy at this moment is terrifying and also maybe the hottest thing Levi has ever seen, and Levi wants him _right now_.

"I forgot to tell you something," Levi says one night, out of the blue and relevant to absolutely nothing in particular.

It takes Roy a very long time to process Levi's words, and when he does all he manages in response is an incoherent, dazed "what." To be fair, he isn't at his best conversationally. It's been a long day, three grueling hours of ODM training in the morning followed by an equally grueling two hours of weapons training with maces. _Maces._ He'd give anything for a handgun, but firearms are apparently in extremely short supply here, so it's swords and daggers and other archaic armaments the use of which Roy had studied only briefly at the academy and then promptly forgotten. After the maces, he'd had a long, busy afternoon overseeing the conversion of the old administrative building.

"I forgot," Levi repeats breathlessly, "to tell you something."

Roy is not at this particular moment especially interested in anything Levi has to tell him. He isn't interested in talking, period. They haven't seen each other in three days: the building conversion is taking up a tremendous amount of time and Roy has somehow been placed in charge of it. He has been given a timeline and a budget and a staff of eager young junior officers, and though he has a significant amount of experience with projects exactly like this one, it's still extremely time-consuming, made worse because most of his newly-assigned subordinates have no experience at all with projects anything like this one. Roy has never missed Riza more.

"Tell me later," Roy manages after taking a moment to gather some words into something resembling a sentence. At least, he's pretty sure it's a sentence. He wouldn't, if pressed, swear to it.

Three days it's been since he's seen Levi, because not only are Roy's days busy, his nights are suddenly busy too. Mike and Jan and Lotte have inducted him into their tight little musical circle, an eclectic group of people of varying skill who play all sorts of different instruments and all sorts of different music, and Roy is loving every minute of it. Jan and Mike had even dragged him down to a tavern in town where the local musicians gather: it had been loud and noisy and smelled of alcohol, and Roy had felt instantly at home in a way he hasn't anywhere else on this strange new world. But Hange — who does not play an instrument; who is in fact completely tone-deaf so far as Roy can tell — had suggested that they perform at the citywide festival that will be held in honor of Queen Historia's birthday, and Mike and Jan and Lotte had agreed, and now Roy is rehearsing with them every night until his fingers cramp and his vision blurs. It's the most fun he's had in years, really, but it also means he has no free time at all.

Until tonight, that is, because it had been some kind of fast day. A fast day nominally, at least, not that Roy could tell by the crowd in the mess hall; they don't much seem to hold with religion here. But a fast day means, among other things, that there is no playing of musical instruments, and so rehearsal had been canceled.

"I'll forget again," Levi says, his voice absolutely level, which is irritating, because it has been _three days_ , and Levi should not at this point be any more coherent than Roy. He should be less coherent. Roy is obviously losing his touch.

Roy gives up and throws one arm over his eyes, letting the other slide off Levi's back. He flops sulkily down to the mattress. "Okay," he grinds out, grumpy and petulant. "Tell me what's so important that it can't wait for an hour."

"It's not important, exactly," Levi says, his tone silky. He creeps up Roy's body, licking a trail as he goes. Roy shivers. Perhaps he isn't losing his touch. Perhaps there's just a finite supply of touch available and Levi has taken some from Roy. Roy is sure Levi used to have to work harder to reduce Roy to goo. "I just don't want to forget again." Levi nips at a tender spot on Roy's collarbone, where Roy had hit the ground hard during ODM practice. It's already bruising and will be spectacularly disastrous by the tomorrow morning. "Erwin said Command wants to come interview you again."

If there is anything that is a surefire way to kill Roy's libido, it's mentioning Command. Roy groans, and not in a sexy way. "Again. Why?" It's getting tiresome reiterating to the people in Command his firm preference to stay where he is, thank you very much, goodbye.

"Somebody in the Military Police is very interested in having you work for them." Levi dips his head down and sucks hard on Roy's neck. Roy groans again. At least this time it's definitely sexy; he can tell because Levi's cock jumps where it is pressed against Roy's stomach, warm and leaking. "They're coming next week after the festival. Maandag or Donderdag, I think." Now he's toying with Roy's ear, which is not helping Roy concentrate. At all.

Eventually, Roy's thoughts coagulate well enough for him to speak. "I already told them"—Levi blows a warm puff of air into Roy's ear, and Roy's thoughts scatter completely again, then take their own sweet time regrouping—"I told them I want to stay with the Corps."

"Mmm," Levi murmurs, hovering above Roy's chest, arms braced on either side, muscles bulging slightly as he holds himself up. He is flushed and sweaty and gorgeous, though he'll never acknowledge the last. "Maybe it's different in Amestris, but here Command tells you where they want you to work, not the other way around."

"It's not different in Amestris," says Roy, who's suffered through innumerable transfers over the years, from post to post to post, sometimes over his strenuous objections. "But here they can't force me."

"What's … oh, _dwingen_." Levi frowns. "No, but they can _try_ to force you."

"Yes," Roy agrees. "They can try."

Levi grins at him, a quicksilver flash of white. Roy loves Levi's smile because of the way it lights up Levi's face, and also because Roy knows he is the only one ever privileged to see it. Levi lowers his head down to catch Roy's lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to sting, but not so hard as to leave a welt. "I'm definitely coming to the interview," he whispers, back again at Roy's ear, voice a low rough rumble. "I don't care what Erwin says. I want to see their faces when you tell them to fuck off."

Roy shivers involuntarily. Levi's arms are still braced on either side of Roy's body, but Roy only feels caged, not pinned. Levi is scrupulously careful now never to grab Roy's wrists. "I don't think I'll use these words," he says, and is rewarded with Levi's low, dry chuckle.

"Those words," Levi says. "I think you should."

"That's why you're"—Levi drops his hips and thrusts against Roy, lazy crazy friction, and Roy's breath catches hard in his throat—"uhh, that's why you're still a captain."

Levi lifts his head and stares down at Roy, one eyebrow quirked. "Are you insulting my rank?"

"No." Now Levi isn't moving at all, which is unacceptable. Roy wraps his legs around Levi's waist and thrusts his hips up hard, earning a choked gasp from Levi, a reward as satisfying as a smile. "But you are the most powerful soldier in the Corps. You could be leading it."

Levi's breath catches hard in his throat, and his eyes are hot and wild. " _Vleier_."

"I don't know what that is," Roy says, sliding his fingers down along Levi's back to grab his ass. He kneads hard, digging in, and Levi's breath hitches and stutters in a very satisfying way.

"It means," Levi says unsteadily, "it means you say nice things about me so I'll like you."

Ah, flatterer, Roy thinks. He'd tried so hard to find that word a few weeks ago. It's definitely going in his notebook as soon as he's done with Levi. Which might take a while. Whatever supernatural power boosts Levi's strength also seems to boost his stamina in bed. "You like me anyway," he says, and opens his legs wide in invitation.

As this is patently true, Levi doesn't seem to feel a need to respond, which is fortunate, since if at this point he is still capable of speech, Roy really will start to worry that he's lost his touch.

* * *

"And so we need to adjust our dependency ratios to account for probable fatalities," Erwin drones.

Levi stifles a sigh. He is not actually tired, and he never takes naps, but these mid-afternoon meetings of which Erwin is so fond make Levi wish he could sleep more. Moblit has an enviable ability to sleep with his eyes open and to wake the second Erwin turns his attention to him. Levi stays wide awake no matter how much he wishes otherwise; worse, if he lets his attention wander for even a second, Erwin senses it like he's a goddamn psychic, and then he asks Levi a question that Levi can't answer and Levi looks like an idiot, and … "what?"

"I asked," Erwin says, in his extra-smarmy voice, "whether you preferred the first option or the second option."

Fuck it. Levi has no idea what either option is and Erwin goddamn knows it, and if Levi just picks one, Erwin is going to raise his goddamn eyebrow and look surprised and ask Levi why that one. It won't matter which one it is, whether it's the one Erwin likes or the one he doesn't; the point is that he wants to make Levi look stupid, and oh, how very much Levi loathes this man, all day, every day, but some days more than others.

Erwin is still waiting, smarmy shit-eating half-smile still in place, and Levi has never been sorrier that he hadn't successfully killed him all those years ago, even if, admittedly, they've done a lot of good together in the time since. Just because they work well together doesn't mean Levi has to like him, does it? Levi hopes not.

The door to the meeting room bursts open with a bang and Gretel comes running in. Moblit perks up instantly, still under the happy delusion that Gretel is interested in a romance with him, even though Levi has heard (from Roy) that Gretel actually has a crush on Nicklas and has been making him breakfast every day, and that the crush is apparently reciprocated because Nicklas is actually eating it even though everyone knows Nicklas doesn't eat breakfast. "Gretel," Moblit exclaims. "Is everything all right?" He actually rises to his feet, the better to offer comfort, Levi supposes.

"I'm sorry," Gretel pants, bent over with her hands on her knees. She must have taken all three flights of stairs at a run. "I'm sorry, but they need Captain Levi to come right away."

Erwin frowns at her but Levi is already half out of his seat. "Who does?" He doesn't really care, truth be told, as long as it will get him out of this interminable meeting.

"Commander Hange," Gretel gasps. "Down on the training grounds."

Levi's chest spasms so hard he thinks for a moment he might be having a heart attack. Roy is down on the training grounds. It's mid-morning and Roy is down on the training grounds because he is always down on the training grounds in the morning, today testing out Hange's latest modification to the ODM gear. Levi hasn't gone down there to watch for ages, probably since early autumn, because Roy says Levi distracts him and now that Roy is no longer throwing up or crashing into trees, Levi doesn't need to worry about him and can just attend to his own responsibilities. _In honest, Levi, I'll be okay without you there._ "What's wrong?" Levi's voice sounds funny, like he's choking.

Gretel just shakes her head. "They just said you needed to come down there right away."

Levi is out the door before Gretel finishes speaking. Behind him he hears Erwin calling his name, but Levi doesn't care; whatever Erwin has to say is irrelevant, and if Erwin is going to get pissed at Levi for walking out of a meeting Levi had no interest in attending in the first place, then fuck him. Erwin should be used to Levi's blatant insubordination by now. Levi only pays attention to orders and rank when he wants to, which is rarely, and Erwin damn well knows it.

"Levi!" That's Moblit behind him, running to catch up with quick loping strides. "Levi, wait."

Levi doesn't wait. Moblit has 15 centimeters on him in height, most of it in his legs, and if he wants to catch up to Levi, he is perfectly capable of it.

"Levi!" Moblit pulls up to him, panting. Levi hadn't even been aware that he'd been running, though now that he thinks about it, the world is going by a little too quickly for anything else. He doesn't slow down; if anything, he speeds up. Moblit keeps abreast. "Levi, for fuck's sake, don't panic; it's probably nothing. We didn't hear an explosion or anything."

Levi keeps going. "He doesn't cause explosions," he says. He isn't worried about a problem with Roy's alchemy. Roy's accuracy with flame seems absolute: Levi has seen him hit small targets 60 meters away without a singe-mark on either side; he's also seen Roy bring down lurching Titans with precise hits to the neck, anticipating their movements, even redirecting the flow of oxygen in mid-strike. No, Levi is not worried about Roy's alchemy; he's worried about the hundred other ways Roy might have gotten injured training on his fancy new one-handed gear that he still hasn't quite gotten the hang of; training injuries are common and sometimes serious: concussions, broken bones, punctured lungs. Levi has seen recruits paralyzed from bad landings, and what if Roy's glasses had come off and he'd gotten disoriented and sick and he'd fallen?

"For fuck's sake," Moblit pants at his side, "slow _down_ , nobody's screaming."

That is true. Nobody is screaming. But sometimes when the injuries are bad enough, there isn't anything to be screaming about. There hadn't been any screaming when Farlan and Isabel had died — only after, when Levi had killed the Titan. He'd been screaming then. But there hadn't been any screaming before; Levi had been racing through the fog, the sound of the horse's hooves thundering in his ears, but he'd have heard Farlan and Isabel screaming if they had been.

" _Levi_ ," Moblit says, and he reaches out to grab Levi's shoulder.

If Levi weren't so focused on moving forward, he'd twist around and slice Moblit's hand off at the wrist. As it is, he shifts out from under Moblit's grabby hand and pulls ahead with a burst of speed that comes from who the fuck knows where. His heart is racing and his pulse is thundering in his ears, drowning out all the noise around him. It's like running through a fog; everything is dim and blurry around the edges.

He skids to a stop at the edge of the training ground, nauseated and light-headed.

"Fuck," Moblit says a moment later, pounding to a stop behind him, and curling over with his hands on his thighs. "Liar. You always say you hate running. Damn it, you're fast. I think I'm going to be sick."

Levi ignores him, scanning the field, willing his lungs to pull in more oxygen. People are milling around, but no one looks particularly frantic; he doesn't see any medics, so maybe nothing is actually wrong, or maybe the medics have come and gone, maybe Roy is already in the infirmary, maybe he is already dead —

There's a whoop from somewhere in the air over his head, behind him. Levi cranes his head up, muscles tensing in case it's an attack, but it's no attack. It's Roy, a blur of motion sweeping by, careening forward, swift and sure, straight towards the target painted on a tree a hundred feet ahead. Hurtling towards the end of the track, Roy flicks his wrist and shoots off a burst of flame that strikes the target dead center.

Roy lands with just the slightest of stumbles and lets out another whoop, and all around him on the ground people are jumping and yelling too, Nicklas and Armin and Eren and some of Roy's flunkies from the administrative building project; everybody is yelling and cheering, except for Hange, who is standing off to the side, writing furiously in a notebook, wearing a small, satisfied grin.

"Levi!" Roy shouts, and runs across the field to him. It's only twenty yards, hardly time for Levi to get his voice and breath back under control.

"You got it?" Levi asks, even though the answer is clear as the scorch mark still smoldering on the target.

"I got it," Roy says, face flushed with excitement, giddy. "I did it, Levi, did you see?" Roy leans forward and pulls him in, gloved hands cradling his cheeks, the ignition cloth rough against Levi's temples. Roy pulls him close and kisses him, right out there in the open, right there for everyone to see, so excited and happy that he doesn't care about the impropriety. He is so happy that Levi can't really be mad at him, even though Levi's pulse is still pounding, liquid lightning scouring his veins.

"I saw."

Roy kisses him again, long and hard, then pulls back with a smile that may be the most genuine expression of delight Levi's ever seen on Roy's face or anyone else's. "Watch," Roy orders gleefully, then shoots up again into the sky, whooping.

Moblit nudges him with his shoulder. "I told you nothing was wrong."

"Fuck off," Levi says absently. He is watching Roy maneuver. Roy isn't at all perfect. His timing is still a little off, his turns a little jerky, but whatever mechanical issues he'd been having have obviously been resolved, because for once, he looks like he's controlling the gear rather than the other way around. Roy whips around a tree, releasing his primary clamps and sending his secondary set off towards a tall post; he makes some adjustment to the handle at his left hip and shoots off a burst of flame with his right, scorching the nape of the fake Titan looming in front of him.

"He kissed you," Moblit says. Sweat is beading at his temples, even though they are deep into winter and the weather is quite chilly; mounds of dirty snow are dotted haphazardly around the entire base. Moblit was running hard to keep up with Levi so Levi wouldn't get to the training grounds alone.

Levi should probably thank Moblit, but Moblit would probably faint if Levi did. "He does that occasionally."

Moblit makes some kind of scoffing noise. "In public."

"Very observant of you." Roy executes a flip that a few months ago would have lost him the contents of his stomach. Now, he rights himself and switches smoothly back to his primary anchors without even a wobble. Hange must have made some significant improvements to the new gear from the last set, for Roy to manage so well with only one hand on the controls.

Moblit swipes at his temple, wiping away the sweat. His breathing is already back under control. No surprise; he likes to run for fun. Claims it's healthy. "He hardly ever even touches you in public."

Levi doesn't take his eyes off Roy, who has touched down briefly on a landing platform. He resets his anchors and shoots off again, the switch smooth and very fast. "He was excited."

"Mmm." Moblit's agreement is patently insincere. They stand together and watch for a few more minutes, as Roy slaughters fake Titan after fake Titan to round after round of enthusiastic cheering from Roy's screaming fan club. Roy's timing improves with every instance. It's actually somewhat astonishing to watch, how quickly he is perfecting the technique. Hange is going to be unbearably smug.

"Erwin will be happy," Moblit says, as Roy destroys another Titan, this one from what has to be at least 50 meters away. "This should take some of the heat off from Command."

Levi shrugs, not as confident in that assessment. "Maybe. There's plenty of use for the gear inside the walls. He'd be even more valuable to them now."

"Erwin will still be happy." Moblit is silent for a minute, eyes tracking Roy as he flies from target to target. "He worries about Roy, you know. Every time we go out there."

So does Levi, but that goes without saying. "He worries about everybody."

"He worries more about Roy. Too much of an easy target staying on the ground as much as he does. Less so lately, but"—Moblit shrugs—"Erwin still worries. He's not a complete dick, you know."

"He's a good commander," Levi concedes. "But he's still a dick."

"I think he feels pretty much the same way about you."

Levi grunts in acknowledgment. He's never given Erwin any reason to like him, either.

"He should do it more often," Moblit says, nonsensically.

Levi twists his head around, eyebrow raised. "Be a dick? Worry?"

"Not Erwin. Roy. Kiss you, I mean. In public. He should do it more often."

Levi's mouth spasms into some sort of odd expression, seemingly of its own volition. "Why?"

"You smiled." Moblit looks at him sideways, his expression open and entirely serious. "Just for a second, but you did." His eyes shift back to the training ground. "He makes you happy. It's nice, that's all."

With a heroic effort of will, Levi resists the urge to smack Moblit in the head. "You're a sap, you know that?"

"Born and bred," Moblit says easily. "I still like seeing you happy. It's a nice change after all these years of seeing you miserable and pissy."

This time, Levi doesn't resist the urge to smack him.

* * *

"Ready?"

"Yes." Roy finishes buckling up his uniform and tugs on the jacket, straightening it fractionally. His shirt is crisp and white; Levi thinks it's the one he had on the day he arrived. It'd been torn and bloody, beyond repair despite Roy's repeated best attempts to clean and mend it, but then one day Roy had gotten frustrated and clapped his hands and restored it to pristine condition. This had appeared to startle him more than a little bit; Levi thinks sometimes that Roy's still learning about his powers, though he would never say that to Roy. Roy hates the word 'powers' as applied to alchemy almost as much as he hates the word 'magic.'

"I'll be with you the whole time," Levi says pointlessly.

Roy grins at him, amused. "Yes, you told me so last week and last night and this morning. Why are you so, what is the word … oh, worried?"

Levi kicks at an imaginary speck of dirt on the floor. "I don't trust Command."

"You don't have to trust them," Roy says patiently. "You have only to trust me." He squints into the mirror and fiddles with his hair, greasing his bangs back off his forehead. The style makes him look older and unfamiliar, yet somehow even more striking. Maybe it's the way the light glints off his cheekbones. "I've talked to people like this many times before. They're all the same. Here, Amestris, everywhere."

Levi thinks Roy is probably right. It's marginally comforting. But still, "The Military Police are very powerful."

" _You_ are very powerful," Roy says. "They just, hmm, their power is not real. Not like yours."

"Not like mine," Levi agrees, "but still real. Command is full of people who used to be in the MPs. They get the most money, the best weapons, everything they want." And now they want Roy, Levi thinks, because of _his_ power, because he has an ability that might as well be magic, because they think he's rootless here and therefore easily controlled. But mostly because of his power.

Roy is predictably unconcerned. Roy worries plenty, but never about anything that depends on his ability to deal with people. And maybe he's right not to worry. Levi has never yet seen Roy in a situation he can't talk his way out of; he smiles at people and they just sort of crumble in front of him. "Remember where I grew up," Roy has said when Levi's called him out on it, but Levi doesn't think that's it, or not all of it. Growing up in a saloon doesn't automatically confer the ability to seduce people. Levi spent the first few years of his life in a whorehouse but he's never had any success getting people to do what he wants except by being really scary.

He hopes Roy's charm will be enough today, because if it isn't, then Levi's going to have to resort to being really scary, and Erwin will get pissed at him for it.

"How do I look?" Roy asks, finally stepping away from the mirror.

'Gorgeous' is what Levi wants to say, but he doesn't because while it's objectively true, it's often better not to feed Roy's very healthy ego. "Pretty good," is what Levi says instead, stepping in close to make a minute and completely unnecessary adjustment to the strap across Roy's chest, like it's not already perfectly straight and flat. "You'll pass."

Roy quirks an eyebrow at him. He knows Levi is full of shit. He reaches down to make a similarly unnecessary adjustment to Levi's jacket, tugging at the hem. Levi tolerates it only because it's Roy. Then Roy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of gloves, as crisp and clean as his shirt, the transmutation array etched on the back in tight neat stitches, bright red lines vivid against the white fabric, the runes still a little alien to Levi's eyes even though it's been almost a year. Roy rubs his index finger against his thumb, right hand first then the left, testing the ignition panels, then nods, satisfied. "Let's go," he says. "We don't want to be late."

"We're already late," Levi points out. "We were supposed to be there at eight."

"We are exactly the right amount of late. We don't want to be later."

Levi is not sure there is such a thing as the right amount of lateness, but Roy was quite purposefully unhurried getting ready this morning, so Levi's pretty sure Roy believes it.

They walk through off the base and into town. Roy keeps his pace steady but not rushed, and he makes a detour to Opa's Bakery for some nonnevot and banket to take back for his troeven game that evening. The serving girl behind the counter smiles prettily at Roy as she carefully puts the pastries in a box, and blushes when he compliments the bow in her hair. If only the pricks in Command were as easy as this girl, Levi thinks.

The bakery box is pink with bright blue lettering and quite large, since Roy bought enough pastries for everyone in the troeven league. Roy arriving half an hour late to a meeting with Command toting a box from the bakery is going to piss off every senior officer present and infuriate Erwin. But Roy seems thoroughly unconcerned and even stops for a few minutes to browse the window at Schneider's. "You would look good in that," he tells Levi, pointing to a jacket made of dark gray fabric with a pale silvery pinstripe. "Maybe we should buy it for you."

"It probably costs as much as I make in a year," Levi says, but Roy only tuts and stares longingly at the fabric for another minute before moving on.

When they finally arrive at Command headquarters, Erwin is waiting for them, disapproving and irritable. When he sees the box in Roy's hand, a vein in his forehead starts pulsing. "You're late."

"Are we?" Roy says blithely, and sails past him and into the building.

Erwin transfers his scowl from Roy's retreating back to Levi's face, where it seems to rest more naturally. "You'd better keep a leash on him in there."

This is highly amusing, since for Levi's entire life he has been the one needing a leash. It's also amusing to suppose that Levi could prevent Roy from saying or doing anything at all. Roy has Levi wrapped very tightly around his finger, and he and everybody else knows it.

"He'll be fine," Levi says. "He knows not to say anything stupid."

Erwin's scowl deepens. "That's not what I'm worried about."

Levi tilts his head to one side, just a bit. "Then what are you worried about?"

Erwin doesn't answer, just continues to frown. "I don't know," he says eventually. "But we can't risk losing him to them."

Anxiety clogs Levi's throat for a second and he curses silently, annoyed at Erwin even though it's not really his fault. "When he first got here," he says, heading for the door, "you weren't even sure you wanted him. You were pissed at me for telling him he could stay, remember?"

"You shouldn't have told him to stay without getting approval," Erwin answers instantly. "Not that you have ever been overly concerned with obeying the chain of command." He follows Levi through the doors and into the foyer of Command headquarters. It's a grand old building, with marble floors and ornately carved pillars, chandeliers of heavy glass and faded murals from legends nobody remembers. Levi's always found it vaguely unsettling, this building built before the Titans, proof of a civilization faded into the mist. There's one fresco he finds particularly disturbing: a man and a young boy on a hilltop somewhere. The man's holding a length of rope coiled behind his back where the child can't see it. The boy's face is open, trusting; he's pointing at something in the distance, but the man's looking down at him with an expression that makes Levi's skin crawl. Levi stares at the rope in the man's hands. It's thick and heavy. Dangerous. The sky's painted an ominous shade of blue gray and there's a storm cloud lurking at the edge of painting. What's the rope for, Levi wonders every time. What's the man going to do with the rope?

Erwin seems oblivious. He's leading Levi through the crowd, which parts for him obligingly, in deference to his rank or just his Erwin-ness. "It's not that I didn't want him," he says. "I didn't know if we could trust him."

"But you trust him now."

There's a pause as Erwin steps back to let an elderly woman pass by in the opposite direction. Her face is worn and tired, and she's carrying a large bag, linen, nondescript, with the Corps logo painted in faded gray. The bag's full and looks too heavy for this old woman to be easily carrying it, but the woman is clutching it to her chest. A mother picking up a child's last effects, Levi guesses. He wonders whose mother.

"I trust him," Erwin says, but with a second of hesitation that someone else less paranoid than Levi might miss. "I trust what he can do for us," and that is more honest. Levi's not particularly offended on Roy's behalf, because he doesn't think Erwin really trusts anyone. But neither does Levi, so it's all right.

* * *

Two hours later, Levi is plotting out how he can secretly murder everyone in the room and get away with it. Everyone in the room except for Roy and Erwin, that is, although if Erwin ended up as collateral damage, Levi could probably live with that. It would be a sacrifice for a good cause. Erwin might even agree.

Next to him, Roy is as unflappable as ever, calm and collected, without even a hint of perspiration on his brow to betray any hidden nerves, not that Levi thinks Roy has any hidden nerves. Roy actually looks just this side of bored. He is attentive enough, polite and respectful, answering every question evenly, with no more hesitation than what can be attributed to his unfamiliarity with the language, but his bland smile, short clipped answers, and occasional restless finger-tapping — which Levi knows is an affectation; Roy _never_ taps his fingers — make it clear that he is just counting down the minutes until he can leave the room and do something more interesting. It is a subtle, targeted slight, to be visibly unintimidated by a roomful of the military's most intimidating officers.

The box from the bakery sits on the table, bright pink and obnoxious. That too is a slight, only less subtle.

The rest of the room is not so calm and collected. Roy's met several of the officers before, but there are at least a dozen people here who have never had the opportunity to see his flame before, and since he'd given them a demonstration, small and not too flashy by Roy's standards but still enough to drop jaws, they've been circling like vultures. Around and around, vying for Roy's attention at times, in other moments trying to cow him into submission.

"The risk is too high," one of them says, leaning forward and staring at Roy with an unhealthy glitter in his eyes. Pinzer is his name, Levi thinks. Military Police by his uniform, high in the ranks by the insignia. He's tall and thin and lecherous. Levi has never met him or even heard of him before but he reminds Levi of Kenny, and every time he opens his mouth, Levi gets an urge to do something like stick a knife in his gut as a preemptive measure.

Pinzer jabs his finger down on the table in front of him, making a point. He is definitely one of the people trying to cow Roy into submission through force of personality alone. "Casualties run at 40% at a minimum on every expedition. We should keep him inside the walls where he's not going to get fucking eaten."

Next to him, Roy twitches almost imperceptibly, though it is certainly not at the cursing. Some of the officers here swear enough to put even Levi to shame, if Levi had any shame, which he doesn't. But Roy is used to foul language. "Casualties," Roy murmurs, enunciating carefully. "That is people who die, yes?"

Pinzer stares back at him. There is something creepy about the way he looks at Roy, almost lascivious. Levi's hand flexes, tightening around the hilt of the knife he didn't bring but should have. "Yes."

"Ah." Roy's voice is bland and polite. "I have been outside the walls _ein halbes dutzend_ times already — pardon, that is six — and we have not had so many casualties. Not even … how do you say _halb_ … half? Not half so many. I think you are, hmm, what is the word, _überschätzen_?"

"Overestimating," Levi says on reflex.

Roy nods his head in acknowledgement. "Overestimating the danger," he says. "Or else you are underestimating how well I can kill Titans."

Pinzer's jaw tightens, but the look he throws at Roy isn't angry. It's something else, hot and wanting. Not sexual, but still, there's a hunger there that Levi recognizes. Kenny had it when he saw something he wanted. No, more than wanted. Something to which he felt _entitled._

"It's still too risky." Pinzer's tone is flat and final, as if that is the end of the argument.

Roy makes a little noise, more of acknowledgment than agreement. "If there is a risk to my life, I think it is mine to take."

A murmur of affronted displeasure runs around the room. "It's not up to you," Pinzer says. "You're the only alchemist we have."

Roy cocks his head. He looks a little more interested in the proceedings now, a little more focused, but not necessarily in a good way. His eyes are glinting, and Levi thinks there is a thread of real anger simmering beneath the surface calm. "You do not _have_ me."

One of the older generals — Mueller? Maier? — frowns at Roy in disapproval and waves his hand brusquely, dismissing Roy's argument as if a hand-wave is all it would take. "Semantics. You work for us. You'll fight where we tell you to fight."

Roy straightens in his seat and tugs on his cuffs, covering the sliver of bronzed skin peeking out between the end of his sleeves and his gloves. "I worked for the military before," he says, voice mild, like he's discussing the weather. He taps one white-gloved finger on the table, a soft steady beat. The salamanders etched on the gloves pulse up and down with the rhythm. Levi isn't sure if it's meant to be threatening, but several of the officers at the closest tables flinch back anyway. "I was a good soldier. I followed orders, and I did many terrible things because I was told to do them."

Pinzer makes a noise, dismissive and skeptical, and the men around him take that as their cue. One of them even crosses his arms across his chest and reaches for his mouth, as if stifling a yawn.

Roy cocks his head to the side. "You don't believe me?"

"All soldiers do terrible things," Meyer or Maire or Miller says impatiently. "That's part of war."

"Is that so," Roy says evenly. "And how many people have you killed, General Maller?"

(Of course, Roy knows the man's name, Levi thinks. Of course, he does.)

Maller looks at him coldly. "I don't see how that relevant."

"How many men? You personally, how many people have you killed? People, not Titans?"

Maller's eyes are hard and flinty. "I have not had to kill any _people_ ," he says between clenched teeth. "Our war is against the Titans."

Roy hums low and thoughtful in his throat. "I think that is true for most of you, yes? Captain Levi has told me, men do not kill men so often here."

Pinzer scoffs loudly, and turns to mutter something to the nameless man sitting next to him. Maller clears his throat and says, "As I said, our war is against the Titans."

" _My_ war," Roy says, "was against people. And when I say I did many terrible things I don't mean that I punched a man or took a woman against her will or accepted money when I should not have. As I said, I was a good soldier. I followed my orders, and those orders were to kill." Maller startles briefly; Pinzer just leans forward, eyes intent.

Roy is still tapping the table, the irregular beat a ragged counterpart to the almost hypnotic rhythm of his speech. Up and down go his gloves, up and down, the white a blur against the bright, cheery pink of the box emblazoned with Opa's Bakery in flowery blue. "My superiors ordered me to … _tilgen_? _Löschen_? _Ahm_ , clean. To clean these people from the world. To make it as if they never lived. I did as I was told. I burned entire villages _._ Towns, cities, a whole nation of people." He doesn't sound like he's bragging, but he doesn't sound particularly regretful either. He is just stating facts. That those facts are horrible ones doesn't seem to matter. "I think now it was a mistake to obey. They were bad orders from bad men. But that was many years ago. I am stronger now, and the men who gave me those orders are all dead."

Some of the generals look taken aback. Levi himself is startled, though he thinks he's hiding it well enough. _For what_ , he wonders. So the other officers in the room won't see it? Or so Roy won't?

Roy looks around the room, assessing and dismissing everyone in it as if they are hardly worth his notice, much less another instant of his time. "I have killed more people than all of you together, more people than live in your entire city. I have killed monsters stronger and more cruel than your Titans. Do you think you can force me to do what you say? Do you truly believe you can control me, even for a moment?" _You aren't strong enough,_ he doesn't say _. I will destroy you if you try,_ is what he means.

The room is silent, either shocked or cowed. Erwin is staring at Roy as if he's never seen him before, a hint of fear in his expression mixed with displeasure and perhaps disgust. Roy sees it and his mouth tightens, but he doesn't say anything else, just waits silently, expectantly, tapping his finger on the table, white against a background of pink and blue. It is for a long moment the only sound in the room.

And then the hungry one, the lecherous one, Pinzer, bolts to his feet. "Bullshit," he says, dismissively. He's furious for some reason Levi can't really fathom. "Maybe this goddamn arrogant bullshit worked for you wherever the hell it is you come from, but here-"

He doesn't finish his sentence, because Roy snaps his fingers and a burst of flame shoots past Pinzer's head, close enough to singe his collar, fading away into nothingness just over his shoulder, as if it had never been there. Levi has seen Roy destroy much larger targets from farther away, but the precision of this attack is more frightening than a show of brute force would have been. Pinzer yelps and jumps back, clamping his hand on his neck, his eyes wide.

Roy remains seated, his body relaxed and poised. Except for the snap of his fingers, he hasn't moved a muscle. "It is not bullshit," he says, confident and unyielding, the steel in his voice counterpoint to his posture. "Arrogant, hmm. Maybe that is true. It is a sin of mine often. But if I am arrogant, it is deserved, yes?" His fingers twitch and everyone in the room steps back involuntarily. Even Erwin. One of the silent generals — Levi thinks he's a general — actually whimpers.

"I will fight where I want to fight, or I will not fight for you at all," Roy says calmly. "That is your only choice." He waits just a moment, but nobody says anything, and Roy's mouth spasms like he's trying not to laugh. Like this is _fun_. Then he turns his head slightly and looks at Levi, who is caught in a weird state halfway between awe and arousal. Roy at this moment is terrifying and also maybe the hottest thing Levi has ever seen, and Levi wants him _right now_. "I am supposed to meet Zoë for practice this afternoon," Roy says, gliding up to a standing position and stretching his neck, all that strange intensity evaporated in an instant. Levi wonders if that is alchemy too. "I don't want to be late. I think we are finished here."

On Roy's other side, Erwin stiffens at the impropriety. Roy is not dismissed until someone dismisses him. But Erwin stays silent, letting Roy's power play run its course. It's in Erwin's best interest, even if it makes it look like Roy is not under his control.

Well, Levi thinks, Roy is _not_ under Erwin's control, and if that fiction is forever shattered, then so be it. Roy isn't under anybody's control but his own. Everyone in the room realizes it now, even those too stupid or stubborn to have figured it out before. Most of these officers are going to give up their attempts at persuasion or coercion as a lost cause: it is quite clear Roy will not be persuaded or coerced, and he is unlikely to feel threatened by anyone in this room, half of whom have probably only narrowly avoided pissing their pants. Actually, Levi's pretty sure at least one person here lost that battle: the air stinks in a way more sour than mere sweat can account for.

There are a few people who may continue to be troublesome, Levi supposes. Maller, who probably feels like he's been publicly emasculated for admitting to never having killed anyone, as if murder were proof of manhood. Pinzer, too, maybe, who's glaring at Roy with a lecherous kind of fury in his eyes, the kind that might lead to assault if Roy were a woman and this were a dark alley, not a conference room. His pride's been wounded and he doesn't seem to be the sort of man to let the slight go unanswered.

But Roy for his part seems entirely unconcerned by the fear and the hostility. His insouciance could be for show, of course; Levi has never actually been to the theatre, and Roy claims he's never been on stage, but Levi's sure that Roy could compete with best of the actors out there. It's not that Roy lies, though he can and does when it suits him, so much that he has an uncanny ability to make a listener believe that _he_ believes whatever it is he's saying; by extension, if you don't believe it too, you are tragically incorrect, since one of you is wrong and it is patently not Roy.

In this instance, Levi thinks Roy's unconcern is honest, not feigned. They are in a room filled with some of the most senior officers in the military, several of whom could order Roy's arrest without even a pretense of a reason, but Roy has obviously concluded that his potential detention is a possibility not worth worrying about. He is either confident in his own ability to defend himself from any such attempt, or he's reasoned that locking him up would be to no one's benefit.

Still, being confident in his reasoning and his immunity is very different from throwing it in the faces of his superior officers, but Roy doesn't seem to care. Roy is so relaxed about it, actually, that Levi guesses this isn't the first time Roy's been in this situation, with people telling him to do something that he'd really rather not, and Roy absolutely not giving a shit.

Levi sympathizes. Levi has been in that situation many times, though since Levi's joined the Scouts, it's almost always just been Erwin on the other side of the battle.

"You are coming?" Roy says, his voice light. He is straightening his cuffs, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt where it is bunched up underneath his jacket sleeves. He tugs the hem of his jacket down and tightens the buckles, runs his hands through his hair so his bangs fall again over his eyes just the way he likes them to. He smiles at Levi, soft and warm, and holds out a hand, laugh lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Looking at him, it's hard to believe he's ever killed anyone in his life.

Levi grabs Roy's hand appreciating the way Roy's arms flexes as he pulls Levi to his feet, Roy's bicep bulging just for an instant with the effort. Roy has such strength to him. "Coming," Levi answers, straightening his own jacket and his cravat where it's bunched up beneath his chin. But then he looks at Erwin, because Roy may not owe his allegiance to anyone, but Levi owes his everything to Erwin. "Are we dismissed, sir?"

Erwin takes an impressively long time to pretend to think it over, keeping his face stoic, not even the slightest tic in his eyebrow to betray his thoughts, which Levi imagines are none too complimentary, even though Levi tacked on an honorific. "Dismissed," he says finally, and rises to his own feet without assistance. Standing, he towers over Levi and Roy both, and his pinned-up jacket sleeve is a reminder of his conviction and courage, not a sign of weakness. "I'll escort you out."

Roy picks up the pastry box and they leave together without a single backward glance. The heavy doors swing shut behind them, blocking out any discussion that follows.

"That went well, I think," Roy says brightly, as they cross the rotunda, Roy effortlessly weaving his way through the crowds. The fresco of the man and the boy is partially obscured by a beam of midday sun. The expression on the boy's face is lost to the glare; the man's look at the boy seems even more ominous than usual. Levi's eyes are drawn again to the coiled rope, and he suppresses a shiver.

Erwin doesn't look at the paintings, unsurprisingly. He just follows Roy through the mass of people, rubbing at his forehead which is damp with sweat. "If they don't have you executed." He looks uneasy and unsettled, but stays quiet until they've exited the building and are out in the muddy city street a few blocks away. Then Erwin sighs and rubs at his forehead again, like he's got a headache. "Fuck. The two of you."

Roy twitches minutely. He glances at Levi with a wicked grin that makes him look about 12 years old. "Is that an order, sir?"

"Oh my god," Erwin mutters. "Get the hell out of my sight, both of you. I don't want to see you for the rest of the day. And don't start calling me 'sir' now, after that show you just put on in there." He transfers his gaze to Levi. "You either. It's creepy."

Levi blinks. "You realize," he says slowly, "that you just gave me permission to never call you sir ever again, right?"

Erwin sighs, a long slow and very heartfelt exhalation. "I hate you. I hate you both. Go away."

Roy nods his head and throws a salute at Erwin that is so crisp and sharp, it could cut glass. "As you wish, Commander Erwin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No artwork! Alas, vacation is coming to an end. I did try to find images to work with but couldn't find any that didn't require more hours than I have to spare. But the art isn't the main point anyway.
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, SapphireMusings, who is a cheerleader for Moblit and who also gave me reassurance that the scene with Military Command worked. All of my chapters have bits in them that are special to me, but that part is a little extra special, as I thought of it of very early in the writing process and then had to wait to actually get there. But here it is. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. If you did, let me know! I appreciate each and every comment, no matter how short.


	14. Mementos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not plot? But more than filler. Actual plot returns next chapter!
> 
> Roy:  
> Today, the sheer ordinariness of his life had thrown him hard enough to bruise when he hit the wall. 
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy does a hop-skip then a twirl and laughs with delight; Levi's chest aches behind his breastbone, that he's been privileged enough to see something so perfect. He doesn't think anything he's ever done justifies such a prize.
> 
> Moblit:  
> "I'm just saying, nobody ever thought you'd fall in love, but here you are, all human and with feelings and everything. It's sweet."

"Bad day?" is the first thing Levi says when he comes through the door. His eyes drift down briefly to the tumbler of whisky at Roy's fingertips and to the bottle on the table, not very subtly gauging the level of liquid inside.

Roy feels a prickle of irritation and forces it down. He keeps his voice light when he answers. He has nothing to be ashamed about or to apologize for, no matter how closely Levi has been tracking his drinking lately. "Not particularly." In fact, it had not been a particularly bad day. It hadn't been a particularly good day either. It had just been a day, a busy day, filled with training and paperwork and meetings. Roy had spent most of his professional life having days just like this one, unremarkable and ordinary. Those were the days things got done, back in Amestris. When Roy had arrived, he'd never expected that he'd have those sorts of days here too. That he has them now all the time still throws him, sometimes harder than others. Today, the sheer ordinariness of his life had thrown him hard enough to bruise when he hit the wall.

"Mmm." Levi toes off his shoes then bends down and places them neatly on the small mat he keeps just for that purpose. He hangs his uniform jacket in the closet and heads for the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with a plate of cheese and bread and some dried fruit.

Levi sits down at the table and glances briefly at Roy's journal. It's written in Amestrian, but Roy is pretty sure Levi can read a bit of it anyway, though not enough that Roy feels compelled to cover it up. Levi nods towards Roy's glass, speaking in a voice devoid of any inflection, carefully non-judgmental. "You started without me."

"There's no reason to wait for you," Roy says evenly, "since you don't drink."

"I do sometimes." _Occasionally_ would be more accurate, and Roy only rarely sees Levi finish an entire drink, even one he nurses for hours. "How many have you had today?"

A lie springs to Roy's lips so quickly that it takes an effort to keep from saying it out loud. He clamps his jaw shut for long enough to quell the instinct. One rule he hews to without exception is that he does not lie to Levi. "Two." His answer comes out tense and curt, but Levi just quirks his lips and hums.

Levi takes a bite of bread, chewing with his mouth closed, neat and careful so no crumbs fall on the rug. He doesn't speak again until he's swallowed. "Two before that one?"

Roy has barely touched the third drink, and two is nothing he needs to apologize for. Two is normal. He's been waiting for Levi for an hour and he was careful with his measures. "Yes."

Levi says nothing, just hums again. Roy is suddenly and briefly infuriated, but he squashes it down. Levi hasn't done anything to deserve Roy's anger. Levi's barely even said anything. This is all Roy's bullshit percolating to the surface.

"I'm not an … an _alkoholiker_." Roy hates how defensive he sounds, like he's lying. He isn't. He doesn't lie to Levi. Levi should know that. Roy drinks, maybe a little too much sometimes, maybe more than Levi — all right, no maybe about _that_ — but it isn't out of control. He has it under control.

"Alcoholic," Levi corrects automatically. "And I didn't say you were."

 _I didn't say you were_ , Maes had said to him once, the same words, just in a different language. _But do you even realize how much you drink?_ Roy's drinking drove Maes crazy, and Maes had nagged Roy about it for years, right up until he died. No one else had dared since then, until now. Roy lets his finger drag along the rim of his tumbler, around and around in circles. "But you think I have a problem."

Levi regards him thoughtfully, playing with the fruit on his plate. "I don't know if you do or not. Do you?"

Roy's not sure whether Levi's questioning whether Roy has a problem, or whether Levi is just wondering whether Roy knows one way or the other. Roy doesn't have an answer either way. Maes would have said that the fact that Roy can't say decisively that he doesn't have a drinking problem is proof positive that he _does_ , but … Roy loved Maes as much as he loved any other human being, but Maes saw the world in black and white, and Roy lives in the liminal spaces between. He frowns at the glass of whiskey in his hand, wishing now he'd drunk it before Levi had come in, even if that would probably have proved Levi's point. He'd known when Levi was likely to be home. He could have avoided this whole conversation if he'd only been a little more careful. That he wasn't probably says something significant about Roy's relationship with Levi, but Roy can't dwell on a second emotional landmine when he's still trying to skirt safely around the first. "I don't drink every day."

"Almost." Levi takes a bite of cheese and pops a wrinkled piece of apple in his mouth. He chews and swallows, fastidious. He is always so much in control of himself. No wonder he doesn't like to drink. Levi is most comfortable when he is firmly in his head. Roy often prefers to be a little bit out of it. "Is that normal, in Amestris?"

Another lie springs to Roy's lips. It would be so easy, he thinks wistfully; he could derail this entire conversation with a simple _yes._ Levi would never know. But that isn't really the point. Roy would know, and the day he starts lying about his drinking is the day he really _will_ have a problem. "No," he admits reluctantly. "Most people don't." Some do, of course; some people drink daily, the drunkards and sots at his aunt's bar among them, but Roy isn't like them. He _isn't_. He has it under control.

Levi reaches out, slowly and carefully, and pulls Roy's glass across the table. His movements are cautious, telegraphed, like he's afraid Roy is going to react badly. Roy feels his jaw clench, annoyed at the insinuation that he'd lose his temper over something so trivial. He forces a breath in and out, relaxing his jaw. Levi doesn't appear to have noticed Roy's momentary flare of anger. "Nobody ever said anything?"

 _I think that's enough for tonight_. _C'mon, buddy, let's get you home._ Roy flinches in his seat but doesn't reach out to take his glass back. "Maes did," he manages. "All the times. Time. He was … I don't know the word. He told me again and again. During the war, after it. He came to my home once and threw out all my bottles." Roy grimaces. "He was a pain in the ass sometimes."

Levi twitches the way he always does whenever Roy mentions Maes, which is one reason, maybe the main reason, Roy doesn't mention Maes more often. Roy doesn't think Levi is jealous exactly; Levi is too smart to be jealous of a dead man, especially one from another universe or reality, much less a dead man from another universe or reality who'd been married with a child. But even if he isn't jealous, Levi is _something_ , and Roy doesn't like being the one to put that strange pinched expression on Levi's face.

"Your aunt?" Levi asks, after a minute to let Maes's name evaporate into the empty air.

Roy barks a laugh. "No. When I was a boy, she put whiskey in my milk at night to help me sleep." She'd done that even before he'd come to live with her permanently, back when he'd just been dumped on her for weeks at a time while his parents had traveled. The whiskey had assured he'd sleep through even the loudest, most raucous nights at the bar. He'd been so young that she hadn't known what else to do with him. She'd never wanted kids. Roy is pretty sure his parents hadn't actually wanted him either, but they'd at least been attentive enough when they were home, until they died. "If she worried about my drinking, she never said it."

To be fair, Roy doesn't think Chris had ever really known exactly how much Roy was drinking at any given time. It had never been a problem until the war — not that it had been a real problem then, either, no matter how much Maes had nagged him — and he'd never lived with her after that except for those few weeks when his eyes were healing. She'd been the one pouring the drinks for him then, and Roy had never asked for an ounce more than Marcoh would allow.

Levi taps his fingers on the rim of the glass, then abruptly raises it to his lips and swallows the liquid down. His face screws up in a truly disgusted expression and he coughs twice, hard enough to rattle his whole frame.

Roy stares at him. "What are you doing?"

"You don't need a third. It's not going back in the bottle, and it's too expensive to waste."

Roy doesn't point out that Levi guzzling down a drink he can't even appreciate is little better than pouring it down the sink. Also, the whiskey hadn't been expensive; Roy gets it at the bar in town for cost when their band plays there. "I don't need you to tell me how much I can drink."

"I'm not going to. But I don't think you realize how much you do."

 _Do you even realize how much you drink,_ Maes had asked, patient and unyielding over all of Roy's protests, and Roy grows abruptly nauseated. "It's hard," he says without thinking.

Levi had put the glass back on the table and is now frowning at the bottle and looking slightly ill. "What's hard?"

"Being here. Not _here_ ," Roy says, before Levi could protest. "Here with you is easy. But here,"—he waves his hand around in a wide circle—"this place, this world. It's hard."

Levi sits leans back in his chair and crosses one leg fussily over the other, hands folded neatly on his lap. In that pose, he looks suspiciously like the counselor Riza had forced Roy to see that one time, except several inches shorter and without the notepad. The session had been satisfactory, though not in the way Riza had been hoping for: Roy had fucked the doctor on his couch, and Riza had never tried to get him to see a counselor again. Roy considers it a victory on both fronts: he thinks psychiatry is quack science, and the sex had been far above average.

"This world is hard for everyone," Levi says carefully, like he is feeling out the words one at a time. "Even the ones inside Wall Sina." He makes a slight moue of disgust. Levi's never made it a secret how little regard he holds for those who hide behind the third wall. "The Titans could come at any time."

"It's not the Titans that make it hard." Roy casts his mind around for a way to explain it, but he's tired and the alcohol is sitting uneasily in his empty stomach. He should have had some food with it. It's past dinner time and he hasn't eaten anything since lunch, too caught up in approving construction requisitions and reviewing blueprints to even get a snack. Back in Amestris, Riza always kept a supply of fruit and fresh pastries, made sure Roy was eating and drinking enough, and forced him to get up once an hour to stretch his legs. She took such good care of him, Roy had never realized how shit he is at doing it himself.

Levi takes care of Roy too. He silently pushes the plate of snacks across the table, like he can tell just from looking at Roy what it is he's thinking. Roy takes some walnuts and a piece of cheese, the walnuts only because he's been eating too much cheese and is trying to cut back. He eats slowly while he tries to marshal his thoughts into some semblance of order.

"Fighting Titans," Roy says eventually, now peeling a stray piece of skin off a slice of dried apple and carefully tucking it in a napkin — not that he cares about the skin but he knows Levi finds it revolting so he's gotten into the habit of hiding it — "fighting Titans is not hard. It's, _ahm_ , what is … it makes me afraid, sometimes. Ah, scary. And it's exciting. When we fight Titans, I don't think about anything else." He pops the de-skinned apple in his mouth and chews. It's rubbery and sweet and tastes strangely little like an actual apple, more like candy. He's surprised Levi likes them, really.

Levi is sitting there in silence, just watching him. Roy wonders if he's feeling anything from the drink, or if whatever eldritch energy fuels him renders alcohol of little effect. Roy hasn't seen Levi drink enough to make an educated guess.

"When we don't fight," Roy says, "that's when it's …" He shrugs a little helplessly. "I have an office here now. And I have people who work for me. And the Scouts pay me a salary and what money I don't spend, I put in the bank." He laughs, sort of. "I have a bank account here. And I have many friends in the Scouts, and I play the piano in town, and there are people in the bar who I am friends with too, who aren't in the Scouts."

Levi's eyes on him are steady and thoughtful. "And that's hard?"

"No." Roy is frustrated now. He really wishes he had finished the third drink before Levi came home, because it would surely have dulled the edges enough that he could have this conversation without feeling the gaping maw of misery in his gut.

Levi waits a beat before responding. "I don't understand."

" _Sheisse_ ," Roy swears, and pushes away from the table with a shove. He knows he's not making any sense. "I have everything here for a life. But I had everything also for a life back in Amestris. I had a job and a family and friends and a bank account and sometimes I don't … sometimes I don't think about them for _days_. And then someone says a thing, or does a thing, and all in once I remember and … and then they're all I can think about." Misery is twisting itself up and around his spine, spreading along every nerve in tiny bursts of tingling agony. "I don't want to think about them, but I also don't want to not think about them, and my … my head doesn't stop, and it's _loud_ and I just want it to be _quiet_." He is almost yelling now, but catches himself when he sees Levi's eyes go just the littlest bit wider than usual.

Roy takes a deep breath and modulates his volume. He pushes his journal across the table to Levi. Levi eyes it warily and makes no move to touch it. "I write to them in here," Roy says, tapping the cheap cardboard cover. The stationery quality here is dreadful. "Letters. I tell them everything that I'm not there to say. At first, I thought I will, no, would. I _would_ give it to them when I get home. It's easier to write than to remember everything that happens. But now I know I'm not going home and I'm writing letters to people who will never read them and I don't …" Fuck, he really wishes he'd had that third drink. His head is pounding and his heart _aches_ and Levi is just staring at him, immobile, one arm half extended like can't decide whether to touch Roy. Roy doesn't know if he wants to be touched or not, but he trusts Levi to make the right call.

In the end, Levi drops his arm so his hand falls lightly to the journal. His fingertips brush Roy's lightly, a hint of contact, gentle but solid and just enough to ground. Roy feels inexplicably like he's about to burst into tears and drags his other hand roughly across his eyes. Shit, he's losing it.

"My brain is too quiet," Levi says. He is keeping his hand very still on the journal, maintaining the thin point of connection between them but not pushing for more. "When I wake up in the middle of the night, my mind is dark and empty. It's like I'm already dead." He isn't looking at Roy now, but at their hands where they're resting on the journal. "I have to keep myself busy all the time, or else all there is in my head is silence."

Levi raises his eyes then and looks at Roy, really looks at him, straight in the eyes, like he can see inside Roy's frantic, crazy brain. "If your brain is too noisy," Levi says, "you can talk to me. I'm shit at talking but I'm good at listening." He shrugs just a bit and leans forward to interlace their hands. "You don't need to drink to get the noise out of your brain."

Roy huffs a little laugh, and rubs his thumb over Levi's knuckles. They are sturdy and bruised, like Levi himself. "I don't think you know how noisy my brain is."

Levi squeezes his hand a little tighter. Roy wonder if the contact is as soothing for Levi as it is for Roy. Some small selfish part of him hopes it is. Logically, Levi's weakness shouldn't make Roy feel stronger, but Roy would rather not be stuck in this morass of feelings alone.

"I don't think you understand how quiet my brain is," Levi says. He's silent for a moment, and then adds, "I won't tell you to stop drinking. That's not my job. But maybe … just try another solution first sometimes."

Roy inhales, long and slow. The liquor bottle is sitting on the table, like a challenge. Like a taunt. He has never found talking to be a particularly reliable solution to his problems. But maybe he's never had a listener like Levi, either. Aunt Chris was always juggling a thousand different problems at any moment, Riza was always trying to probe to the root of Roy's issues, and Maes was just too _verdammt_ cheerful. Levi just listens. Maybe Levi's quiet will be enough to suppress the noise in Roy's head. It goes against Roy's nature to be optimistic, but … he's willing to try. For now, at least.

* * *

Einmánuther begins, and winter starts to ebb. By the end of the month, it will be spring, and the first hardy bulbs have started to poke through the ground. The 18th day of the month also marks the one-year anniversary of Roy's arrival. Roy doesn't mention it, but when the day arrives he spends it in his quarters staring at his journals and drinking, and the next day he is hungover and irritable and snappish.

Fortunately, three days later is Arbor Day, and even though there are few trees in Trost outside of parks, there are parties all over the city and one on base. The holiday's always on a Zaterdag, and Roy had just missed it last year, so Levi makes sure to bring him to the Survey Corps bonfire in the evening. Everyone celebrates Arbor Day, as far as Levi knows; they even celebrate it in the Underground where most people have never actually seen a tree.

The party is big and loud and bawdy, and Roy is entranced by the music and the decorations and all the special holiday foods: spiced fruit pies and honeyed nuts and apples candied in a hard red shell, which Roy has never seen before and falls in love with on the first bite. Levi avoids the sticky apples but indulges in a small serving of oliebol straight out of the deep fryer and dusted with a fine powdery sugar.

The sun sinks and sets while they're eating their treats, and then the only light comes from the bonfire and winking torches scattered like fireflies around the vendor stalls. Roy picks specks of red candy shell off his uniform while Levi wipes the sugar and grease off his fingers, and Armin appears out of thin air with Eren and Sasha to steal Roy away for a traditional dance around the fire. Levi does not dance and says so; Roy pouts at him but Levi remains steadfast in his refusal and just sends Roy off with an admonition not to twist his ankle.

Levi finds a good spot off to the side to sit and watch. Roy in the firelight is beautiful. There is really no other word for it. Levi doesn't consider himself a romantic in any sense of the word, but he's entranced by the way the bonfire casts flickering shadows on Roy's face, brings the cut of his cheeks into sharp relief and highlights the sharp straight line of his nose, sends reflection of embers spiraling in and out of his eyes. Roy looks ethereal and untouchable, like one of the mortals that tempted the old gods to flee the heavens and descend to earth, and just looking at him makes Levi dizzy with need and something else that he doesn't particularly want to examine.

Roy is not in the least oblivious; when he twirls around to where Levi's standing, he has a look in his eye that says he knows exactly what Levi is thinking, and he's going to reward Levi — or maybe make him pay, which will amount to the same thing — later on, when they are alone. Levi's mouth goes dry just thinking about it.

The dance looks complicated to Levi, not that Levi knows anything about dancing. But Armin and Eren and Sasha are twirling around sunwise and then widdershins, arms up and then down and then out, coming together and then floating apart, laughing all the while. Levi spots Mikasa on the other side of the bonfire, watching her friends in much the same way Levi is watching Roy. That Mikasa is not dancing is no surprise to Levi, but she looks as content as Levi has ever seen her. Roy is watching Armin's feet with the same look of concentration he wears whenever he's doing anything important, like studying or sparring or having sex, but his body is loose and relaxed. His cheeks are slightly flushed, but the color's from exertion not alcohol; he's only had a single drink so far.

Armin pulls off a complicated maneuver that Roy tries to mimic but can't match. It doesn't matter; Roy still looks more graceful than anyone else out there, not in the way of a dancer, but of someone who is completely aware of his own body and the space it occupies, which seems larger than it should. Roy is not an unduly large man: much taller than Levi, obviously, but not very much taller than Eren and Mikasa. Still, he seems to fill the space around himself more completely than most people in a way that draws everyone's attention to him, constantly.

Or maybe that's just Levi. Maybe Levi's just a little biased. Roy's gorgeous and confident and sexy, and he draws attention to himself just by existing, but maybe nobody's watching him quite as closely as Levi.

Armin spins around and Roy follows deftly, lithe and elegant. He's wearing black trousers and a black vest and a shirt of shocking emerald green; the top three buttons are undone in deference to the heat of the fire and his sleeves are rolled up his forearms, just the right amount to be tantalizing, not an inch more or less. Levi isn't sure the tantalizing is deliberate. Roy is well aware of how attractive he is and never seems reluctant to use it to his advantage, but his attractiveness is also a state of being — it happens whether or not he's trying. Maybe a lot of the time he isn't actually trying. Levi doesn't know. He's not sure it matters.

The music speeds up and Eren almost trips over his own feet, but he catches his balance at the last minute with a funny twist of his hips. Roy mimics that flailing save too, grinning, and he looks so _happy_ , glowing with it and maybe the most beautiful thing Levi has ever seen. Levi swallows hard and looks away to regain his composure.

"Here," Moblit says, plopping down on the ground next to Levi and handing him a stein of beer that Levi hadn't asked for and doesn't particularly want.

Levi takes an obligatory sip of the beer and places the mug carefully down on the ground where it won't be accidentally knocked over by someone's careless feet. Levi then follows Moblit's eyes to Roy, who is dancing perfectly now, feet flying in time to the music like he's been doing it all his life. Roy does a hop-skip then a twirl and laughs with delight; Levi's chest aches behind his breastbone, that he's been privileged enough to see something so perfect. He doesn't think anything he's ever done justifies such a prize.

"Pathetic," Moblit says, sipping at his beer.

Pathetic is maybe the last word Levi would use to describe the vision that is Roy illuminated by firelight. "You _wish_ you could dance like that."

Moblit laughs. "Damn right I do. But I wasn't talking about Roy. I doubt Roy's been pathetic a day in his life."

Roy would almost certainly disagree with that sentiment. For all his effortless sexiness, prodigious intelligence and devastating charm, not to mention his astounding alchemical abilities, Roy has an incredible ability to doubt his own self-worth. "If you're talking about the way Armin's still sniffing around after him, then I agree."

Moblit gives him an excoriating look, and Moblit's arm actually twitches, like he's thinking of poking Levi the way Moblit pokes everyone else when he thinks they are being dense. Fortunately, Moblit's self-preservation instincts prevail and his arm stays safely at his side. "Nobody's sniffing around after Roy but you. They don't want to wake up dead one morning when you come after them for hitting on your boyfriend. The pathetic one is _you_ , moron. You might as well just piss on him and get it over with."

Levi's mug is still tucked carefully between his feet. Levi briefly contemplates pouring the beer he didn't want over Moblit's head, or possibly just hitting Moblit on the head with the mug, though if he doesn't empty the mug first, he'll likely end up getting splashed with beer, which isn't a particularly appealing prospect.

The mug stays on the ground. Levi is in control of most of his bad impulses, and he has a lot of practice controlling them around Moblit in particular. "What the fuck are you talking about," Levi says flatly.

"You know," Moblit says, waving his hand in a very general way in Roy's direction. "Mark your territory."

Levi turns as slowly and threateningly as possible to glare at Moblit. "My what?"

"Territory. That's what dogs and wolves do, right? They piss on trees to mark them." Moblit takes a sip of his beer.

"I'm not …" Levi counts to ten. "He's not my _territory_."

"The fuck he isn't. You should see the way you look at people who get too close to him. It's cute. I mean, it's terrifying, truthfully, but it's also cute. You know, because it's you."

"The last time anyone called me cute," Levi says slowly, "I was eight years old. Then I stuck a knife in his gut."

"Yeah, well, you're a psychopath. That's not news. Are you drinking that?"

"No."

Moblit picks up Levi's neglected mug and takes a sip, not even bothering to wipe off the rim even though he's drinking from the same side Levi took his sole sip from. Levi's stomach gives an unpleasant little flip even though he ought to be used to Moblit's pathological disregard for hygiene by now. "I'm just saying, nobody ever thought you'd fall in love, but here you are, all human and with feelings and everything. It's sweet."

Levi is silent for what feels like a very long time. "I'm not."

" … not what?" Moblit asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Not sweet? Not human?"

"Not in love."

Moblit barks out a laugh, instinctive and loud. He is seemingly genuinely amused. "The hell you aren't. It's obvious. Everybody knows it. Roy too."

"I'm …" Levi says, meaning to disagree, but then he falls silent, because, well, maybe? Not that he's thought about it in those terms, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. "Well, fuck me," he says, and drops his head into his hands.

"As appealing an offer as that is, I've gotta pass," Moblit says. "Because Roy would kill me. He'd piss all over you too, you know, metaphorically I mean. I hope. I don't really want to know what kinky shit you two are into." He takes another sip of the beer he theoretically brought for Levi. "Remember last week, when that woman from the market was talking to you? You know, the one with the big …" He makes a crude gesture with his free hand, presumably meant to indicate breasts, though anyone with breasts as large as Moblit's gesture would indicate would surely fall over. "… The one selling the fruit tarts. What was her name, Gertrude? She was standing really close to you. I thought Roy was going to alchemy her into a frog or something."

Levi smacks Moblit out of habit. "He can't turn people into animals." Levi is pretty sure, at any rate. "And alchemy isn't a verb, you moron."

"Whatever, it should be. Anyway, Roy was glaring at her like he wanted to turn her into something small and ugly so he could step on her. You know, really grind her down into something slimy on his heel, like a slug. It was cute."

As unacceptable as 'cute' is when applied to Levi, Levi is okay with it when applied to Roy. But he's nonetheless offended on Roy's behalf because Roy is too smart to be jealous of some woman from the market that Levi can't even remember. Levi can't even remember the pastries, because the only pastries in Trost that are worth the calories are from Opa's Bakery. All other baked goods in the city are decidedly inferior, though Roy might disagree, since he has a bigger sweet tooth than Levi and is far less picky. Still, Levi would never on his own choose to shop anywhere other than Opa's; however, in this instance they'd been in the market to get a special kind of sauerkraut for Lotte, who is apparently something of a kruat snob, and the market is too far away from Opa's for a trip to both to have been feasible in the time they had available, and Roy and Moblit had both wanted a snack.

Moblit puts the beer stein back on the ground with a very decisive thunk, having drunk enough so that no beer slops over the side. "So, he loves you back, you idiot, and I can't believe I'm the one who has to explain this to you, considering my longest relationship didn't last long enough to even call it a relationship." This is true. Moblit's romantic exploits are legendary failures. Even Levi, who generally pays no attention whatsoever to who is dating whom, knows that no one ever dates Moblit for long, not for lack of effort on Moblit's part.

If pressed, though possibly only under pain of torture, Levi might admit that Moblit would probably not make the world's worst boyfriend. He's a moron, obviously, but not actually stupid. He's cheerful. He works hard. His hygienic habits are almost entirely absent, but he bathes often enough to be socially acceptable and when he takes the time to pay attention to his grooming, he's well within the normal standards of attractiveness. And he's caring and kind and loyal, and stubborn enough to persist in befriending Levi when any rational person would have given up almost as soon as starting.

What Moblit's exact problem with women is, Levi doesn't know. Moblit is often goofy, even when goofiness is inappropriate; maybe women find that irritating? Levi has never been goofy a day in his life so can't be sure how people react to it. Or maybe Moblit is too quick to tell women he loves them – Levi can see Moblit blurting that out on the first date. Or maybe Moblit is just terrible in bed, though he doesn't seem like the sort who would be, not that Levi has spent any time speculating on what Moblit might be like in bed.

Roy probably has an idea where Moblit's relationship problems stem from, but Levi is not going to ask Roy, because then it might get back to Moblit that Levi asked, and Levi would have to kill himself because Moblit would mistake Levi's morbid curiosity for Levi actually caring. Which Levi absolutely, honestly does not.

"You should just tell him, is all I'm saying," Moblit says. "The longer you wait the weirder it'll get." He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arm around them, staring out at Roy and the others dancing around the fire. Roy's troeven buddies have joined in, Mike klutzy and awkward, Lotte enthusiastic, and Nicklas more graceful than Levi would have guessed, given how clumsy he is on the gear. Even Hange is dancing. "Last week was really rough for him," Moblit says quietly, hugging his knees to his chest. "He only drinks like that when he's really depressed. I just think he'd appreciate knowing how you feel. Knowing that something good came out of all this."

A year ago, it would have been laughable to think that he, Levi, could be 'something good' for anybody. "He knows how I feel," is all Levi says.

Moblit turns his head, tilting it so his cheek is resting on his knees. "But does he really?" he asks.

Levi doesn't know, so he doesn't answer.

* * *

Time turns. Spring is in full bloom, and Erwin plans a three-day mission that takes them near to where Roy had arrived. The circle's hard to see now through the new grassy growth covering the ground, just a few dead bushes and scorched branches testifying to the strange explosion.

The night they return, Levi silently fumes and not-so-silently frets as he checks Roy over after a brush that had been far too close for Levi's heart with a 15-meter Titan. Levi thinks Roy was distracted by their proximity to the circle; Roy is insulted Levi thinks so. Distracted or not, Roy had killed the Titan with a particularly incendiary burst of flame but he was careless with his anchor lines and hit the ground hard afterwards. On his head. Levi thinks Roy had lost consciousness for a minute; Roy swears he'd merely been winded. Either way, the infirmary has already cleared Roy and his stupid hard head, but Levi is taking his time checking Roy over – it never hurts to be thorough – when there is a knock on the door.

"I'm _fine,_ " Roy says impatiently, trying to push Levi away to no effect. "It's not my first time outside the walls. Answer the door."

"That Titan almost hit you."

" _Donnerwetter_ ," Roy says in exasperation. Levi has yet to figure out exactly what that means, but Roy only ever says it when he's exasperated. Roy rises to his feet, nearly knocking Levi off the couch in the process. "Hello," he says, yanking the door open with more force than is strictly necessary. "Mike. Good evening. Come in."

Mike takes a cautious step into Levi's quarters, eyeing Levi where he is sitting on the couch, shirt untucked and wrinkled. He flushes slightly. Levi supposes Mike can't be blamed for jumping to the wrong conclusion, since on most evenings it would have been the right conclusion. "Is this a bad time?"

"This is a very good time," Roy says firmly. "Levi was being an ass. Would you like a drink?"

Mike appears to consider it for a moment, but then he glances at Levi again and shakes his head, apparently having correctly read the mild hostility in Levi's body language. "No thanks. I just came by to give you these." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that Levi can't quite see from his position on the couch.

Roy goes still and stares down at whatever it is Mike had given him. " _Wo hast_ … where did you find them?"

"In the circle," Mike says. He rubs at the back of his neck, then shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Just lying there in the grass. I guess they've been there the whole time. We, uh, we brought them to Erwin first, sorry."

"No," Roy says absently. "That was the right thing to do." He wrenches his eyes up from his hands with some effort and puts on a smile that Levi can tell is fake even from his horrible vantage point. "Are you sure you don't want a drink? We have gin."

Mike wavers but shakes his head when he catches Levi glowering at him. "No thank you. I have a lot of reports to fill out. You know how Erwin is. We're practicing tomorrow night, right?"

"After dinner," Roy agrees, with something closer to a genuine smile. "I have found a new song for us."

Mike smiles back brilliantly. He is not unattractive, Levi concedes, if you go for that sort of thing. Levi does not. Levi goes only for Roy.

"Fantastic," Mike says. "I just hope it's easier than the last one."

"I'm sure you'll be able to play it. You're an excellent musician. Good night, Mike."

"Night Roy. Levi."

Mike lets himself out, and Roy turns around without another word and heads straight to the liquor cabinet where he pours himself a double tumbler of gin and downs the whole thing with only the slightest grimace at the burn.

Levi sighs quietly to himself but doesn't say anything, just pulls himself to his feet and takes the glass away before Roy can pour himself another. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Roy says, without meeting his eyes. "I'm just …" He finishes his sentence with a shrug, then reaches into his pocket and removes two items, holding them out for Levi's inspection. "Here."

Roy is holding what appears to be a wallet and a square metal box, neither of which seem worthy of sending Roy straight for the gin, though admittedly some days it still takes very little. Roy's getting better, Levi reminds himself. He's doing better. Bad habits aren't broken overnight. Levi reaches for the wallet first. It's black leather, obviously high quality with reinforced seams and tight stitching, only a little worse for having been exposed to the elements for 11 months. Levi flips it open slowly, waiting for Roy to protest, but Roy just stands there, fingers tracing around the edges of the box he's clutching in his hand.

Inside the wallet Levi finds a number of bills of what he presumes is currency, all stamped "Republik Amestris" and in several different denominations. They are marked in "cenz" and decorated with gaudy, colorful drawings of strange people and places. There are about 9,000 cenz altogether, which might be a lot or a little; Levi has no way to know. Roy never talks much about money, but the way he seems happy enough to spend it leads Levi to believe Roy had never really worried about his finances in Amestris, not seriously at any rate.

Levi hasn't really given much thought to money since he joined the Corps; most everything he needs is provided for free, and his indulgences are infrequent and inexpensive. He takes most of his modest salary and stores it away in case he's ever disabled and has to retire. It seems more likely he'll be killed by a Titan, but Erwin had probably once thought the same, and now he's down an arm and holding onto his commission by stubbornness alone. Someday, Erwin will probably retire and live a long and productive civilian life. That might happen to Levi too. Unlikely doesn't mean impossible.

Seeing the Amestrian money is bizarre. It's almost disconcerting to have tangible evidence that Amestris exists somewhere outside of Roy's head. Not that Levi had ever truly doubted Roy's story, not even in the beginning, but it's still strange having proof that a whole other world is out there, filled with people who have never even heard of Titans.

Levi thumbs through the rest of the wallet. It also holds some small paper rectangles, most of which have Roy's name on them. They look official, with stamps and seals and neatly printed text. Some kind of identification cards, Levi presumes.

A few other paper rectangles are slotted behind the bills, with small portraits on them painted in a quality so fine, it's almost as if they've been captured from life. The shading is all muted browns and grays, a strange choice, but perhaps colored oil paints are expensive or difficult to come by in Amestris. The first portrait is Roy and another man, both dressed in uniform. Roy looks grim and impossibly young; the other man is tipping his hat and smirking, glasses glinting in the light. "Maes?" Levi asks, though he doesn't really need the confirmation. The glasses are confirmation enough, and Levi can't think of any other man whose portrait Roy would have in his wallet.

Roy nods his head jerkily. "That was the day we … we left from the academy," he says. His voice is thick and he clears his throat with a rough cough. "Before the war."

Levi studies the little portrait some more. He wonders what had been going through the artist's mind, why he had painted Roy looking so somber and Maes so cheerful. "You look very young."

"We were 20," Roy says. "Well, I was. Maes was 21. He went off to his first position right away, but I got permission to go back to Master Hawkeye." He frowns. "Maybe I should have done what Maes did. If I hadn't learned flame alchemy…"

"Hey," Levi says. "You didn't know what would happen."

Roy frowns at him but doesn't say anything else. Instead, he takes the small stack of portraits and flips to the next one, also of Maes, this time with a woman and a young child. "Gracia," Roy says. "His wife. And their daughter Elicia."

This portrait too is remarkable in its detail. Levi has never seen anything like it. He's captivated by the merriment in Elicia's little face. "You never said," Levi says slowly. "You never said he was married." Levi doesn't know what to make of it. Maybe he'd been wrong in all his assumptions. Maybe Roy and Maes hadn't been lovers after all. Or maybe they had been before the war but not after. Or maybe they still had been lovers after the war and this Gracia woman hadn't known about it. Or they still had been lovers and she did know. Some people were okay with that.

Roy frowns slightly. "Didn't I?"

"No." Levi is still reeling, thrown probably more than he should have been by the realization that he'd been so fundamentally wrong about something so important.

"They married right after the war. He was crazy for her. And when Elicia was born it only got worse. I never knew anyone so — what's the word — determined. So determined to be happy."

Roy's voice is sad and small and quiet. Levi thinks now that maybe Roy and Maes hadn't been lovers after all, that Maes had preferred women, even though Roy had undoubtedly been in love with him. But maybe that isn't true either. Maybe Levi has been jumping to conclusions all along. Maybe Roy and Maes are just good friends and Roy is missing him, and that's all it is.

It doesn't feel like that's all it is, but Levi's ability to read other people's emotions has always been somewhat stunted. Roy plucks the portrait from Levi's fingers and places it down on the table so only the back shows.

The next picture is three people Levi doesn't recognize and a young child.

"My parents," Roy murmurs. "And Aunt Chris. The day they left me with her."

Levi can't understand these astonishing little portraits. Does Amestris have so many artists, then, that people pose all the time, for no reason? Getting a portrait painted is something only the wealthy have time and money for; the rest of the world settles for quick sketches drawn by street artists, if that. Levi has no portraits of his mother whatsoever. And these are so tiny. If you're going to paint a portrait, why would you make it so small?

"That's you?" he asks, pointing at the child.

Roy grins, though he also looks a little embarrassed. "Yes. I was still in short pants. My mother thought they were, _ahm_ , what is it, cute?"

"They _were_ cute. You look like her."

Roy cocks his head and peers at the portrait. "Do you think so? My aunt always says I look like my father."

" _She_ looks like your father," Levi says. She really does. The resemblance is somewhat remarkable, Roy's father's strong, handsome features hardly blunted on his sister's face. Roy's mother is slim and dark and 100% Oriental — Xingese, Levi remembers — and absolutely stunning. She'd have been highly sought after in Levi's world for less than savory reasons.

"I remember that day," Roy says, reaching to take the portrait and peer at it more closely. "It was warm and stayed light until very late, and Aunt Chris gave me _eis_ for the first time after my parents left. You don't have that here, I think. It's a dessert, like frozen milk. Very sweet." He shakes his head. "That's all I remember. It was the last time I ever saw my parents, but all I remember is the _eis_."

Levi's last memory of his mother is sitting for days in a room alone with her stinking, rotting corpse, drinking the filthy bath water and slowly starving. Then Kenny had come, which had not been much of an improvement. Levi still doesn't know why Kenny saved him; finding out years later that Kenny was his uncle hasn't lessened his confusion. Kenny had seemed happy enough to try to kill him when they last met. Why then had he saved Levi as a child, when he could have simply turned around and left Levi in Kuchel's squalid little room? Levi would surely have died soon enough. Had it been some misguided sense of loyalty to his sister that had evaporated in the decades since? Levi is only what Kenny had made him, but he can't help but think that he disappointed Kenny in some way. By joining the Scouts, perhaps. By deferring to Erwin. Levi will never know now.

Roy is still staring at the tiny portrait pensively, then he heaves a sigh and puts it on top of the pile. The last portrait looks to be the most recent, based on Roy's appearance in it. He's wearing his Amestrian uniform and he doesn't look all that much different than he does now. His hair's a little shorter, maybe, though Levi thinks that Roy's taken to wearing his hair just a bit longer now than he did when he first arrived; it brushes down past tip of his collar. In the portrait, Roy's standing in the midst of five or six other people also in Amestrian uniforms, and it's weird, again, to see tangible proof that Roy's life before he arrived here was not lived in a vacuum, that he really _was_ part of a larger military organization, that the great big stupid blue coat was actually a uniform and not some strange affectation.

"Riza," Roy says pointing to the only woman in the picture. She is standing closest to Roy and she is wearing a faint, enigmatic smile. She's taller than Levi would have expected, though Roy had never said one way or the other how tall she was and so Levi doesn't know why he'd expected her to be any particular height at all. Riza is quite pretty, Levi thinks, feeling a flare of stupid jealousy, which is even worse than when he was feeling jealous of the married, heterosexual Maes Hughes. Roy has never been romantically involved with Riza Hawkeye. Being jealous of her would be like being jealous of Roy's sister, if Roy had one. Although, Levi now remembers that Roy has slept with some of the women who worked for his aunt, and he sometimes calls them his sisters, so perhaps the analogy is not apt. But sister or no, Levi nonetheless has no reason to be jealous of Riza Hawkeye.

But Levi's jealous anyway, because there is something in Riza gaze that's the slightest bit possessive, something proprietary in the way her eyes are resting on the back of Roy's oblivious head. Maybe Roy never felt anything for Riza, but Levi is not sure Riza never felt anything for Roy.

Ugh. Levi wrenches his attention to the other people in the photo, but Roy doesn't seem inclined to identify them. Levi wonders if any of them is the infamous Edward Elric, or maybe the younger brother, Alphonse. He doesn't think they're both in the photo, as none of the men seem to bear any physical resemblance to each other. Levi can't remember if either or both of them were in Roy's military. Besides Roy and Riza, there is a tall, thin, light-haired man with a cigarette in his mouth, a short man with dark hair, glasses and a wide, infectious grin, and a burly man with darker skin and short hair who looks like he needs a shave.

"My team," Roy says finally, heaving a sigh. He looks suddenly very tired and turns away from the table, putting his back to the wallet and the little miraculous portraits. "They must all think I'm dead by now."

Dead or lost forever, Levi supposes. In Amestris, Roy is only one of many alchemists. If Roy's team, the group of people splayed so carefully around him, if they knew he was alive and had any way to retrieve him, surely they would have done so already. Maes might be married but if he felt half as close to Roy as Roy still feels to him, then surely he would have done everything in his power to bring Roy home. And whatever it was that Levi saw in Riza's expression, surely Riza would have left no stone unturned to get Roy back.

Levi puts the portrait on the small pile, next to the probable identification cards and strange Amestrian currency. Roy has picked up his glass again and is rolling it around between his fingers; for comfort, maybe, Levi thinks. Roy doesn't appear to be on the verge of pouring himself another drink. He's been far more sparing with his alcohol lately: not teetotaling by any stretch of anyone's imagination, but a month ago he'd probably have downed half the bottle already. It's not surprising he went for the liquor so quickly tonight. Honestly, Levi doesn't even blame him. What's surprising is that he's stopping himself, even if it's just for Levi's sake. Levi doesn't think he's ever had someone do something so against their instincts just because they know Levi wouldn't like it. Roy's trying so hard. Levi wishes he could do something for Roy of equal value, or that he could at least find the words to express to Roy how much he appreciates the effort.

That's for later, though. For now, Levi settles for standing as close to Roy as he can without actually stepping on his toes. Roy is far more tactile than Levi, so Levi has consequently become a much better hugger over the past several months, honing his instincts about when to touch and when not to touch and when to sort of hover affectionately while still leaving Roy room to breathe.

"What's the box?" he asks when a few minutes have passed and Roy hasn't made a move to talk.

Silently, Roy hands it over. It's rectangular, made of some kind of silver metal, warm to the touch from being clutched in Roy's hands. At the top is a complicated little contraption, some tiny little tubes and a sort of a hinge, perhaps, presumably functional but to what end, Levi can't guess.

"It's a _zigarettenanzünder_ ," Roy says, correctly interpreting Levi's baffled silence.

Something to do with cigarettes. _Anzünder_ , _anzünder_ … Levi feels like he should be able to figure it out, like maybe he already knows this word in a different context, though nothing is coming to him at the moment. He's also puzzled as to why Roy would have been carrying around anything to do with cigarettes. Roy said he'd smoked only occasionally in Amestris, mostly at his aunt's bar, and Roy had been working the day he'd accidentally ventured between worlds. Maybe the cigarette _anzünder_ had some kind of sentimental value, or maybe it is valuable now only because it represents a piece of a world Roy has lost.

Roy looks at Levi's face for a moment, then smiles wryly. "Ah," he says. "I'll show you." He plucks the box gently from Levi's fingers and runs his fingers over it gently, feeling along the edges and examining the strange mechanism at the top. "When I arrived," he says ruefully, "I couldn't have done this so easily." Then he claps his hands together and closes them around the box. Light flares between his fingers and Levi has to shut his eyes against the brilliance even while his stomach flips at being so close to a transmutation, even if it's only a little one.

When he opens his eyes again, Roy's examining the box, and his grin when he holds it up for Levi's inspection is genuine if small. "Here," he says, and holds it out for Levi to take.

Levi holds up his own hands, palms forward and pushing away. "It's very pretty, but I still don't know what it does."

Roy stares at him for a brief second before laughing, though the laugh seems to be aimed inward. "I should remember by this time, but I'm always forgetting how many things are different here." He holds up the _anzünder,_ gripping it in his fist, his thumb poised over the hinged mechanism. He flicks his thumb. There's a tiny spark and a hiss, and a flame flickers to life, emerging from a tiny pinhole at the top of the box. "For the cigarettes," Roy says. "So you do not need a match."

 _Anzünder_ , Levi thinks. _Aansteker_. A lighter for cigarettes. Levi is relieved in some hidden spot where he doesn't like not to know what Roy's saying — maybe it reminds him too much of those early days when every conversation was a struggle. The tiny little firebox is kind of a marvel. He wonders if the fire is made with alchemy, too, if the Amestrians had figured out how to make a mechanical device that harnesses transmutation energy so everyone can use it.

"Sometimes," Roy says slowly, thumb running over the intricate carvings on the fire starter, "Amestris seems like a dream. Like I … what is … invented it. Maybe it isn't real. Maybe it never happened." He sighs and squeezes the little box hard enough that his knuckles turn white. "There are people who, they are sick in the head, you understand? They dream things and think the dreams are real. I feel that way sometimes. That maybe I'm thinking it's real, but the truth is that it's all"—he gestures towards his head, vaguely—"in my brain only."

When Levi was still a boy, after Kenny had left him but before Levi had really made a name for himself, he rented a single small room for ten pennies a week in a shitty rat-infested building where everyone else was either a drunk or a thief or a leper. One of the drunks was plagued by voices in his head, usually screaming at him. Levi doesn't think he'd ever known the man's name, because Levi had taken great pains to avoid everyone else in the building as much as possible. But Levi had spoken to him once or twice on his more lucid days. He drank to drown out the voices, the man said, because if he didn't, they would tell him to do horrible things. He was unwashed and he stank and he was always talking to the voices no one else heard. He cursed at them, screaming sometimes, eyes wild and unfocused, unkempt beard flecked with crumbs and spittle. He pleaded with them to leave him alone but it didn't seem like they listened. Levi always kept an extra tight grip on his knife whenever he saw the guy, but the man never did anything to Levi except inadvertently wake him up some nights, muttering restlessly to himself in the hallway outside Levi's door, pacing back and forth and trying to convince his demons to leave him alone.

One day they found him dead in an alley, gutted with his own knife. Levi had always wondered whether he'd tried to attack someone or whether the voices in his head had made him turn his weapon on himself.

"It's not in your head," Levi says. "No one thinks you made it up."

" _I_ think so," Roy says. "Sometimes, only. When I wake up and it is … it's very real here. And all of that, what came before, it all is so far away. I wake up from a dream and I, I wonder if that is all it ever was. Just a dream. Just something in my head." He picks up the little portraits then, holding them gently by the corners. From where he is standing, Levi can just make out the shapes of Roy's team in the portrait on the top of the pile.

"I couldn't dream these up," Roy says, staring intently at the little paper squares. "If these are real, then all of it was real too. Maes and Riza and everyone. They're real."

Relief unfurls in Levi's chest, sharp and sudden, flooding into every corner where anxiety had been lurking. He's not even sure what he'd been anxious about, only recognizes the feeling now that it's gone. Knowing that his worry was centered around Roy is enough; he feels like he has somehow dodged a Titan attack, thinks maybe that he'd been worried that reminders of his lost home would send Roy spiraling. But instead, the incredible little portraits and the firebox seem to have grounded him.

"She's pretty," Levi decides, peering over Roy's shoulder. "Riza. She looks"—competent, he thinks, and self-assured—"nice."

This surprises a laugh out of Roy. His eyes crinkle around the corners as he brings the portrait closer to his face. (Levi has noticed Roy doing the same thing sometimes when he's reading his journal or other papers and it's late and he's tired, squinting to bring the words into focus. Levi has never commented on it because of Roy's aversion to glasses, but he thinks he'll have to take Roy back to the optometrist sooner or later. Perhaps they'll get him a pair of frames for everyday use that are more like the ones Maes wears in his portrait.)

"She is pretty," Roy says. He sounds like he's surprised. Like he's never quite noticed. "But I have never heard anyone call her nice." With a sigh, he places the portraits and the colorful money and the identification cards back in the wallet, carefully, fingers delicate with unusual reverence. He puts the wallet in his jacket pocket.

Levi doesn't see the wallet or any of the little portraits again for months. The firebox, though, becomes the first thing Roy looks for in the morning upon waking and the last thing he puts down every night.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this would have been out earlier, but today -- Wednesday, Jan. 6, that is, even though technically we're into Thursday by my clock -- was one of the strangest, most stupefying days ever. I told my kids it's one of those rare days that you know is going to go down in history while you're living it. (Not that you ever want to be wondering if your country's government is on the verge of collapse, but it was noteworthy.)
> 
> Art: I have actually been working on a different picture entirely, but it really would have been more appropriate for the last chapter and I'm not quite finished with it, so I did this one instead to go with the last section. I'll post that one with some future chapter. At least I'm getting faster. But there goes another night when I swore to myself I'd go to sleep before midnight, and yet here I am, not asleep.
> 
> Thanks: to my beta SapphireMusings as always, for putting up with all my extra commas
> 
> Comments: please, if you have a moment! I do so love them and I reply to every one.


	15. Smoldering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot. Plot plot plot.
> 
> Levi:  
> Jealousy twists Levi's insides uncomfortably, but he forces it down. He's being ridiculous. Roy hasn't shown the slightest interest in anyone else, and his not being there when Levi woke up means nothing. It's probably just Roy's enviable ability to shake off even a hard night's drinking like it didn't happen. 
> 
> Moblit:  
> "I believe I just said that," Levi says dryly. "I don't actually keep track of his every minute."
> 
> "Kind of seems like you do," Moblit mutters. "Not, you know, in a weird stalker way. More like a you're-hopelessly-in-love-with-him kind of way. It's cute."

One morning in late Harpa, Levi wakes up with a wretched hangover, freezing and drenched in sour-smelling sweat, as if a fever just broke. The clock on his nightstand says it's 8:37, which is ludicrous. Levi hasn't slept past five since Kenny used to kick him awake to steal food for breakfast before the markets opened.

He's sprawled out sloppily all over the bed, still in yesterday's clothes, reeking of smoke and grease and alcohol. The blankets are in a heap at the foot of the bed; both pillows are on the floor. There's no sign of Roy. Either he's already gotten up and left or he slept in his quarters, which are technically still assigned to him even though at this point he stays with Levi nearly every night.

Maybe Roy just didn't want to sleep here if Levi was drunk. Excess alcohol makes Levi belligerent — more belligerent than usual — and maudlin, and sometimes gives him nightmares, during which he isn't entirely safe to sleep next to. Levi doesn't remember any nightmares, though. Doesn't remember anything, really, except being in the tavern, food and wine and noise and smoke all going to his head.

Levi blinks. The world goes momentarily dark and takes its time coming back into focus. The clock now says 9:03, impossibly. Levi's head pounds. He swears to never drink again, not even to keep Roy company. Roy tolerates way more alcohol than his body mass would seem to support. Levi wonders sometimes if all that transmutation energy running through Roy's body dulls the effects. Roy says it doesn't work like that, but Levi wonders anyway, because honestly, it's implausible otherwise. _It's just many years of practice,_ Roy says, not quite laughing. Levi likes when Roy laughs. Levi likes it even when Roy doesn't quite laugh.

Levi blinks again; again, his vision takes longer to clear than it should. He stares at the clock until he can focus on it. Time is misbehaving. It's somehow already 9:14. If he doesn't get moving, the morning will continue to magically evaporate around him. He has things to do today, surely, though he can't at the moment remember a single one.

He finally forces himself up and out of bed at 9:45, ignoring the way the world spins when he stands, and staggers his way to the bathroom. The water in the wash bucket is freezing, so Roy probably hasn't been here at all, which is … fine, Levi tells himself. Roy just slept in his quarters. That's fine. He's allowed.

It's better that the water is cold, anyway. It helps him wake up and shake off some of the cobwebs cluttering his brain. By the time he's washed and shaved and changed into a fresh uniform, he feels at least partially human again. He sets a kettle to boil, strips the bed and remakes it with fresh sheets, then straightens up the room while steeping some tea leaves. Two cups of tea and half a piece of slightly stale bread later, he's feeling mostly better, even if his head's still pounding and the room tilts alarmingly if he turns his head too quickly.

He stops by Roy's quarters on the way to check in with Erwin, but the room's empty, so Roy's up and gone already. If he slept here at all. If he didn't get as drunk as Levi and go home with one of the gaggle of people who swarm around him whenever he goes anywhere in town, smiling and simpering and salivating, all just waiting for a chance to grab his attention. Jealousy twists Levi's insides uncomfortably, but he forces it down. He's being ridiculous. Roy hasn't shown the slightest interest in anyone else, and his not being there when Levi woke up means nothing. It's probably just Roy's enviable ability to shake off even a hard night's drinking like it didn't happen. Levi should know better by now than to try to keep up with him even a little. Roy must have come back with Levi, put him to bed, then gone to his quarters to sleep. He probably doesn't even have a headache. He's probably already at the practice range, testing out yet another modification of the ODM gear, Hange hanging over his shoulder and Moblit heckling from the sidelines.

When he gets to Erwin's office, Levi deliberately doesn't ask him if he's seen Roy. Levi's beginning to think his thoughts too often circle around Roy, as if all his other interests and responsibilities somehow have become only secondarily important. As if he's tethered. Kenny would laugh at him. Probably smack him first, then laugh at him for letting someone else in and under his skin. _Thought you'd have learned your lesson by now, boy_ , he'd say. _Don't get attached._ Then he'd probably kick Levi in the ribs for good measure. Kenny was an asshole, Levi thinks abruptly.

"You look like shit," Erwin says, cool and blunt, when Levi shuffles in. Levi thinks Erwin didn't used to curse so often and wonders whether Erwin's increased use of profanity is because Levi's rubbing off on him, or if Erwin thinks it's the only way they can properly communicate. Levi guesses it's the latter and moreover suspects Erwin may be right.

"I feel like shit," Levi answers back. He sinks into a chair and rubs his aching head.

Erwin's mouth is tight and disapproving. He's intolerant of anyone being less than perfectly composed, regardless of the circumstance. "Are you sick?"

"No," Levi says, grimacing. "Drank too much last night, I guess."

Erwin's frown deepens, a fractional tilt of his mouth downwards that somehow conveys an exponential increase in his displeasure. He makes it an art form, really. "You guess?"

"I don't remember. Don't glare at me like that. It hurts my head."

"You never used to drink so much," Erwin says. His eyebrow twitches, and Levi can see the effort it's taking him to not accuse Roy of being to blame for Levi's descent into dissolution and self-indulgence. Erwin is content to take full advantage of Roy's alchemy, but doesn't seem to care for him personally. Levi thinks it's because Roy isn't cowed by Erwin's tall blond perfection and is somehow impervious to Erwin's disapproval. Not oblivious to it but just unaffected by it. Roy also has a way of getting what he wants from Erwin while making it seem like it was Erwin's idea all along, which drives Erwin crazy because he knows it happens but seems to be incapable of stopping it. It's a more powerful ability than alchemy, Levi thinks sometimes, and counts himself lucky that Roy doesn't use it on him. So far as he knows.

"You don't know what I used to do," Levi shoots back, which is true, if a deliberate misdirection. "Leave it alone, Erwin. We're not running a mission today."

Erwin's jaw clicks but he doesn't say anything further, although the way he opens the blinds to let the sun shine right in Levi's face feels vindictive.

After Erwin sets him free, Levi spends the rest of his morning buried in his own office, completing reports that have been outstanding for months. He's irritable and distracted, so the reports will be crap. Fortunately, turning in crap reports several months late is one of Levi's favorite ways of pissing Erwin off.

By lunchtime, Levi's finally starting to feel somewhat better. His appetite's returned, at least, even if his head still feels like a throbbing block of wood. Levi stops by Roy's office, but Roy hasn't yet been in; his staff assume he spent the morning at the training grounds, which is where he is most mornings. Levi would go check on him, but it's a long walk and now that his head has calmed down and his stomach's settled, he realizes he's starving.

He eats in the mess with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, because Erwin forces the officers to socialize with the recruits on a regular basis even though Levi would rather be doing almost anything else with almost anyone else. Eren peppers him with questions about his early days in the Corps and Levi lies his way through it; Eren's hero-worship is a little creepy and mostly makes Levi want to do something really stupid and obnoxious to knock himself off Eren's pedestal.

Armin sits mostly quietly, picking at his stew. "Is it true Roy can breathe underwater?" he asks finally, when Eren has temporarily run out of questions and has resorted to gazing at Levi with rapt, creepy devotion.

Dealing with Armin's creepy Roy-worship is marginally preferable to dealing with Eren's creepy Levi-worship. Levi quirks an eyebrow. "Who told you that?"

"Moblit," Armin says. "He said Roy can transmute the water so there's enough oxygen for him to breathe."

Levi has no idea if this is true or not, but it sounds like exactly like the kind of bullshit Moblit would come up with to tease the brats. "It's probably bullshit," he says. "I don't think even Roy would be calm enough to transmute while he's drowning."

Armin looks outraged on Roy's behalf. He persists in holding onto his faith in Roy's perfection even though he has spent hours cleaning vomit off the front of Roy's uniform. Mikasa just looks faintly disapproving, which to Levi is no different than any other day. Eren looks constipated, maybe. He gets a peculiar pinched look around his face whenever Roy's name comes up. (Moblit, the dick, claims that Eren's jealous of Roy because he's got a crush on Levi. Levi tells Moblit he's a pervert and that Eren's a goddamn kid. Moblit says Eren's old enough to fantasize and he wouldn't be the first recruit to jerk off moaning Levi's name. Levi gets physically nauseated and takes it out on Moblit by threatening to cut his dick off. This entire exchange has happened several times, with little variation.)

"Hey weirdo," Moblit says, and Levi blinks himself out of his stupor to see Moblit actually standing in front of him, as if he somehow sensed Levi was daydreaming about castrating him.

"Jackass," Levi says genially.

Moblit sits down in an empty seat and starts picking at Levi's leftover potatoes. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Boyfriend. Levi keeps his expression neutral only with significant effort. Smacking Moblit down usually only encourages him. "I thought he was with you."

Moblit gives him a deeply offensive stare as he shoves a potato in his mouth. "If he were with me, I wouldn't be asking you where he was."

"I _thought_ he was with you," Levi repeats patiently. "I don't know where else he might have gone. I haven't seen him yet today."

"Huh," Moblit says, frowning. "Hange and I waited for him all morning at the practice range. When he didn't show I figured he was just sleeping off a night of wild monkey sex."

Levi breathes in and out. The brats are scandalized and silent. "He was already gone when I woke up." Or hadn't been there at all. The distinction doesn't need to be pointed out to Moblit. "Why do you need him?"

"Oh, you know," Moblit says vaguely. "This and that. Hange wants to try out some more modifications to the ODM gear."

Levi wonders if they will ever stop modifying Roy's ODM gear. He doesn't understand the point. Roy is perfectly competent now, but he still doesn't like to use the gear if he doesn't have to, so spending a lot of time perfecting it further hardly seems worthwhile. "I'll tell him you're looking for him, if I see him."

Moblit looks confounded. "You mean you really _don't_ know where he is?"

"I believe I just said that," Levi says dryly. "I don't actually keep track of his every minute."

"Kind of seems like you do," Moblit mutters. "Not, you know, in a weird stalker way. More like a you're-hopelessly-in-love-with-him kind of way. It's cute."

Levi has a strong aversion to the word 'cute,' especially as applied to him. His jaw tics, which makes his head throb. "You're an idiot."

"Why, you're going to tell me it's not true? You're always mooning at him." Moblit contorts his face into some expression that Levi supposes is supposed to look love-struck.

Levi's limited store of patience has just run dry. "Keep it up, asshole. I need a target for sword practice later."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know; my face will be a pincushion when you're done, whatever." Moblit eats the last bit of lunch on Levi's plate then rises to his feet and stretches. Something pops in his back. "Tell Roy I'm looking for him whenever he crawls out of his hangover hole. And tell him Hange's pissed about this morning."

"Hange loves him," Levi says. "Even when he misses training."

"Tell him anyway. Bye, kiddos." Moblit wanders off, probably to steal someone else's food, and Levi excuses himself from the brats. He wonders idly where Roy's gone, if he's not in his room and he's not at the training grounds and he's not at his office. Levi supposes he could have gone into town to see the tailor. Levi does have a vague recollection of Roy mentioning something about a new vest last night, and Roy's fussy enough about his clothes that he might have taken the chance to skip out on ODM training.

Levi spends the early afternoon going over maps with Erwin, one of his least favorite activities with one of his least favorite people. Levi doesn't need maps to get from one place to another and doesn't understand why Erwin's so obsessed with them, but Erwin is not interested in Levi's opinion on the matter and insists that they review and revise and expand their map library of the area beyond the walls after every expedition. It takes two hours to review one small section of one map, covering an area Levi thinks must represent about 25 square miles, and by mid-afternoon, Levi's headache, which never fully went away, has returned with a vengeance.

Erwin frowns at him when he sees Levi rubbing his forehead. "You _are_ sick."

"I'm not."

Erwin snorts. "You're pale and you look like you're going to collapse."

"I told you," Levi mutters, "I drank too much last night."

"If you drank so much that you'd still be feeling it a day later, you'd be dead." Erwin does not sound remotely sympathetic. His voice, hard and flat, is grating on Levi's nerves more than usual. "You're sick."

"I'm not sick, for fuck's sake. I have a headache."

"So go to the infirmary and get some paracetamol. Don't be a martyr." Erwin looks down at a report on his desk that Hange dropped off an hour earlier, and scowls. "And then see if you can track down your missing boyfriend."

"Fucking hell … not you too, Erwin."

Erwin transfers his scowl to Levi. "What?"

"Boyfriend? Really?"

"Would you prefer lover? Paramour?" Erwin smirks. "Special friend?"

Levi counts to ten in his head and keeps his voice level, digging his nails into his palms to help quell the urge to punch the smirk off Erwin's face. "I'd prefer Roy."

"Obviously," Erwin says dryly. He shuffles the papers on his desk. "Nobody's seen him all day. Hange is antsy. Find out where he's hiding and tell him that just because he's our only alchemist, doesn't mean he can neglect his regular obligations to the Corps."

Roy is well aware of his obligations to the Corps; he takes his responsibilities here more seriously than almost anyone else. "All day?" Levi says. "Nobody?"

Erwin looks up from whatever stupid requisition form he's signing. "That's what Hange said." He frowns. "He didn't mention anything to you this morning about his plans for the day?"

"I didn't see him this morning." Levi's headache doubles in intensity, and unease starts swirling in his stomach.

Erwin blinks at him for a moment. Confusion doesn't exactly mar his features, but it does make him look slightly less perfect. "I'm sorry, I thought you and he were sharing quarters."

Levi's neck flames of its own volition. "Not officially."

"Obviously not officially, otherwise you'd have more space and a bigger bed."

Levi stares at him. "What?"

"If you were sharing quarters officially," Erwin says patiently, "you'd have more space and a bigger bed. I've been waiting for you to submit the requisition form. But I suppose if Roy's regularly still spending some nights in his old quarters it makes sense for him to keep them."

"He's hardly spending any nights in his quarters," Levi says, still stuck on "more space and a bigger bed." How had he not known this? He wonders if Roy knows; he wonders if Roy knows and hasn't told Levi and whether that means something.

"But you said you didn't see him this morning," Erwin says after a pause just precisely long enough for Erwin to have calculated it would be tactful.

"I didn't. I slept late, I woke up feeling fucking awful, and Roy was already gone, I thought." Levi doesn't mention that he'd also thought Roy might have stayed in his quarters. It seems improbable now, in retrospect.

Erwin's eyebrow twitches. "But he came home with you last night, didn't he?" There's a tone in his voice that Levi can't interpret, except that it's not just prurient curiosity.

"I'm … I'm not sure," Levi says. His head is pounding and he rubs at his eyes. "I can't remember."

Erwin is silent for a moment. When Levi looks up, it's to find Erwin staring at him, brow creased. He doesn't look happy, but Levi's not sure where his displeasure is directed. For once, Levi thinks it might not be at him.

"What _do_ you remember?" Erwin asks. There's a thin note of unease in his voice that makes Levi's anxiety spike and settle, tension thrumming through his spine.

"We went to the tavern," Levi says. "Mike said he'd meet us there but he got held up and didn't show. Roy played darts with some of the locals while we waited. He won and they bought us a round of drinks … some home brew, they said. Tasted like shit."

"Which locals?" Erwin asks, and then, when Levi doesn't immediately answer, "Which locals, Levi?"

Levi's heart thumps once, hard. "I don't know. One of them was really tall." Erwin doesn't say anything or even make a face, thankfully. Erwin's an asshole but one thing he doesn't do is tease Levi about his height. "Pale skin, freckles, light brown hair, missing a tooth in front. The other was …" He rubs his head again, irritably; he's never _ever_ drinking again. "… Shorter. Stocky. Dark brown hair, long. Greasy. Had a mole, I think, on his cheek, but I guess it could have been dirt."

Erwin is frowning so hard Levi's afraid he's going to strain something. "Erich Strucker," he says. "That's the tall one. And Klaus Himmel."

The names are vaguely familiar to Levi, but he's not sure from where. "Who are they?"

"Thugs," Erwin says, mouth pursed, like the word is distasteful. Levi wonders if that's how he used to speak about Levi when Levi was still Underground, if that's maybe how he still thinks about Levi even now. "Came from Ehrmich. Used to work for Hans Schulz, but turned state's evidence when he was arrested. Schulz was executed; they got some joke of a sentence."

Anxiety twists Levi's stomach tighter. "You think they went after him? Roy can handle himself."

"Against two scumbags like Strucker and Himmel? I've no doubt."

Levi doesn't doubt it either. He's seen Roy fight. He's no match for Levi, but nobody is, save maybe Mikasa. Roy's a trained soldier, though: more competent than most of the Corps in hand-to-hand even if he relies on his alchemy a little too much for Levi's comfort. Still, faced with two ordinary humans, especially two who spent their lives topside, Roy would easily be able to take care of himself. If he was sober enough. If he had time to react against an attack from two people he'd no reason to suspect.

Erwin's tapping his fingers restlessly on his papers, staring blankly at the wall.

"You're worried," Levi says. "About what?" Aside from the obvious fact that no one's seen Roy all day, that no one's seen Roy since last night, really, there's something else that's got Erwin anxious. Erwin doesn't get anxious. Levi's stomach muscles are so tight he's afraid he's going to throw up.

"Strucker and Himmel are for hire," Erwin says finally, absently. His fingers are still tapping. "They haven't found themselves a new gang to run with, so they work for anyone who's willing to pay. Last I heard, that was John Becker."

Names and more names. Levi's never been especially good with them. "Who's John Becker?"

"Small-time crook. A nobody. Smuggles drugs to and from the Underground mostly. But he also runs weapons occasionally." Erwin's eyes focus on Levi, grimly. "Rumor has it he gets them from Thomas Pinzer, but we've never been able to prove it."

"Pinzer," Levi says blankly. That name, he knows. He remembers the name; he remembers the face. He remembers wanting to punch Pinzer in his smug, crooked mouth. He remembers the meeting in Command, Pinzer's cold, greedy eyes focused on Roy, the way he'd practically been salivating at the thought of getting his hands on someone with so much power. "You think Pinzer arranged for … for what? For those guys to … to get their hands on Roy somehow?"

"It's possible. There might have been something in the drinks they gave you. You've been sick all day."

"Not sick," Levi says. "Hungover," but even as the words come out of his mouth, he knows they're not true. He's been hungover before, and this isn't that. Hangovers don't leave him feeling like crap a full day later. And anyway, he's sure he didn't drink that much. A half a glass of wine, maybe, before the tall guy, Strucker, had handed him a mug, and Levi hadn't finished even half of that. The drink was bitter and strong and carbonated, and none of those are characteristics Levi particularly enjoys. Roy had liked it well enough, Levi thinks, but that wouldn't have been unusual; Roy's much less finicky than Levi when it comes to alcohol. When it comes to most things, really, but maybe especially alcohol.

Roy had finished his drink, Levi thinks; he'd finished it easily and Himmel had been quick to refill it, and Roy hadn't complained about the taste or waved him off because he's an idiot, a stupid fucking idiot who's always so cautious except when people are giving him free alcohol, in which case he throws all caution out the window because he is a lush and a moron and … "Fuck," Levi grinds out. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if that will somehow massage away the pain and the anger. "Fuck, they drugged us. God damn it, I'm going to kill that son of a bitch." He's not even sure who he's talking about: Roy or Pinzer. "They drugged us so they could get to him and he wouldn't be in any condition to defend himself."

"Maybe," Erwin says. "Probably."

"Fuck," Levi says again. He squeezes his palms so tight his nails cut into his palms. "Do you have any idea where they might have taken him?"

Erwin is already rummaging in his file cabinet. He pulls out a thick manila folder and drops it on the table. "They've got a pretty broad network," he says, frowning. "And Becker has all kinds of connections to the Underground, which could make finding them problematic, if they're holed up down there."

Levi's stomach twists and tightens. _They'll eat you alive,_ he'd told Roy once, when Roy had asked Levi to take him. "I can find them if they're Underground."

Erwin casts a sympathetic look in Levi's direction, as if he knows how nauseating the thought of returning Below is for Levi. "I don't want to do anything rash. I'd rather not send a squadron out when we've got no real leads. We should send someone to the tavern first, have them poke around."

"I'll go," Levi says, straightening up.

"Levi," Erwin says, and it's almost painful, how gently Erwin's speaking to him now, "you're hardly in any shape for a rescue."

"Fuck that," Levi says, managing at the last minute only to avoid saying 'fuck you,' if only because it would probably come out more vicious than he can apologize for later. "I'll take some paracetamol. But I am not sitting around here waiting like a useless prick."

Erwin takes a deep, measured breath. "I don't want you to sit around," he says carefully. "I want you to take care of yourself so you will be ready later. We don't have any leads yet. We'll send someone to the tavern. You look and feel like shit. Go take some paracetamol. Eat some food. Drink some water. We'll come get you as soon as we hear anything."

Levi shakes his head. "No. No, I can't — if they've taken him, if he's in trouble, I need to find him." Unbidden, images rise in his mind: racing through the fog, a severed head on the ground, a bloody smile from within the jaws of a Titan.

"Levi," Erwin says. His voice is loud, commanding. Fervent. This is the Erwin that people will follow to their deaths. "This won't be like Farlan and Isabel," he says firmly. "I promise you."

"You can't promise that," Levi says bitterly, gut twisting. "He might be dead already."

"Pinzer wants to use him," Erwin says. "That will keep him safe." He strides to the door and stands for a moment with his hand on the knob. "I know you won't listen to me if I order you," he says. "But I'm asking you as a friend"—which is bullshit; they are not now and have never been friends—"just give us a little time."

Levi's head is pounding and he thinks he might be sick. "An hour," he says. "I'll wait for an hour."

"Two," Erwin says, and then repeats it over Levi's instant objection. "Two. It'll take an hour just for someone to get into town and back again. And I'm not kidding. You really look like shit." He opens the door, takes half a step out into the hall. "Get some rest, and get yourself ready."

There is no chance that Levi will get any rest, but he nods anyway, just to get Erwin to leave. Levi sits staring at the doorway for several minutes afterward, too numb to move, severed heads and bloody smiles looping around his mind. _You'd better still be alive, you idiot asshole,_ he says in his head. _Just wait for us, Roy. We're coming._

* * *

A hard slap wakes Roy from a hazy, unsettling dream that fades as soon as he opens his eyes and leaves behind only faint impression of flames burning and people screaming, sand in his eyes and blood in his mouth. His head is throbbing and his face stings where the slap had landed; a trickle of blood lets him know his lip's split open again. He dabs at the blood with a dry tongue and looks up to find a sneering, twisted face staring down at him.

Blinking his eyes fully open is a mistake; the light shining in his eyes is blinding and makes his headache even worse, so it takes a little while for Roy to get his thoughts to cohere enough that he can put a name to the man in front of him. _Becker_ , Roy remembers eventually. The name had been unfamiliar to him when he'd first heard it … a few hours ago? Half a day? He's not sure how long he's been here, or even where 'here' is, only that it's been too long and he'd like to leave, if it's all the same to anyone. His arms, when he tenses them, are still bound behind his back, and straining against the rope only renews the dull ache in his shoulders from having been tied to a chair for so long.

"About fucking time," he hears from his left somewhere. Twisting his head to look is agonizing but Roy does it anyway, out of some kind of instinct to identify all the threats in his vicinity. This particular threat is a tall man with skin as pale as any Drachman and dotted with pockmarks. Maybe the marks are freckles; the light isn't bright enough for Roy to be sure. When Roy turns to look at him, the man leers back, highlighting a gap where his front right canine should be. Roy hopes, quite intensely, that someone had punched it out. At the tavern, the man had introduced himself to Roy as Lars, but apparently his real name is Erich.

"Maybe he'd have woken up faster if you hadn't kept hitting him in the head," says another voice, this one off to his right. Roy swivels again to another flash of pain. The third man is shorter and dirty looking, with shaggy brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail. He'd introduced himself last night as Klaus, which is apparently his actual name. Roy suspects the lack of an alias is because Klaus is not bright enough to remember to answer to a fake name. Several strands of hair have escaped Klaus's hair tie and are dangling in front of his face, hanging down in front of his eyes and surely impeding his vision. Roy doesn't know how he can stand it. It's annoying Roy and it's not even his own hair.

"He wouldn't stop talking back," Lars/Erich says, tone aggrieved.

"Just making conversation," Roy mumbles. His mouth is dry as dirt and tastes like something died in it a month ago. "My aunt always taught me to answer when someone was speaking to me. Even if that someone was _ein schwein_."

"What does that mean?" Erich asks, predictably outraged. He's very easy to provoke. "What'd you call me?" He raises his hand.

Roy tenses for another slap or punch, but Klaus tugs Erich's hand down. "We want him awake, dickhead."

With a muttered curse, Becker pushes both Erich and Klaus out of the way, then bends down so he is right in Roy's face. Roy flinches back instinctively but there is nowhere to flinch to, and his head just hits the back of the chair with a thunk that does nothing for his headache. Becker places his greasy, filthy fingers on Roy's face and spreads open Roy's eyes, then stares deeply into them. His breath is so foul Roy has to swallow hard not to gag; he resists too the urge to spit in Becker's face. The momentary satisfaction will not be worth the retribution.

"It's almost worn off. Just in time," Becker says, straightening up. "Go tell him he's awake."

Roy understands the individual words of that last sentence, but when he tries to parse it into something sensible, he can't make it work. He's not sure whether his failure is a language issue or residual sluggishness from whatever they'd spiked his drink with last night. Maybe both. Roy thinks he's gotten pretty fluent in the language they speak here, but now he wonders if he's not as fluent as he thought, if maybe Levi and Moblit and everyone else adjust their speech to make it easier for Roy to understand them. Which would be nice, if true. Levi and Moblit and the others have been so kind. Roy will tell them when he sees them again. Which he hopes is very soon. Right now would be nice.

Erich and Klaus both leave, and Becker leans against a wall and starts examining his fingernails, at least one of which is directly responsible for the stinging welt by Roy's eye. Roy hopes the nail ripped down to the bottom of the nail bed.

Becker is ignoring Roy, which is fine, since if Becker is ignoring Roy, he is not hitting Roy. Roy has had enough of getting hit by Becker. Roy's also had enough of getting hit by Erich and Klaus. Roy has had enough of getting hit by everybody.

He takes the opportunity to examine the room in which he's being held, although there is not very much to examine. The room is dingy and unremarkable. The walls are blank and featureless. There are no windows, and just the one door. It's a small room, maybe half the size of Levi's bedroom — _don't think about Levi,_ Roy tells himself firmly; _he's not here, he's safe, he's coming for you_ — and empty of any furniture save for the chair to which Roy is currently tied and a small table on which sits the lamp currently shining directly into Roy's eyes, along with Roy's wallet and pocket watch and cigarette lighter. Roy's gloves are nowhere in evidence. A few cheap industrial lamps flicker in the wall sconces, providing atmosphere more than useful lighting. They look dull and functional and boring, the same as the rest of the room. Roy thinks it was an office once for some low-level functionary, probably someone doing a thankless job for insufficient pay, who spent the days stamping paper and dreaming about a promotion to a more interesting job that would come with a bigger office and a window.

Alternatively, Roy thinks he might be projecting a little.

The door opens, and Erich and Klaus return, grinning. Erich's smile is particularly sadistic, which does not bode well for Roy.

Then another man walks through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him. "Well," the man says, in a tone so malicious it's almost comical. "Not so arrogant now, are you?"

Roy has always been good with names, excellent with them, really, but under the circumstances he thinks he can't be faulted for the length of time it takes him to identify this new guy. Especially since Roy had only met him once and there were a lot of people in the room at the time. "Captain Pinzer," he says pleasantly, rewarded by the answering flash of rage in Pinzer's eyes. Pinzer is at least a Deputy Commander, possibly even higher ranked than that, but Roy is not above being petty given the opportunity. "I'd shake your hand, but"—he pulls against the ropes, just for show—"I'm a little tied up at the moment."

Pinzer grins with no humor. "It's nice to see you haven't lost your _kalmte_."

The word is completely unfamiliar to Roy, but he doubts Pinzer will be very interested in giving him a vocabulary lesson, and vocabulary is hardly Roy's biggest concern at the moment. "It's always nice to take time with friends," Roy says, "but why am I here?"

Pinzer regards him with a thoughtful expression. Erich and Klaus have taken up positions on the walls to Roy's left and right; Becker must be lurking behind Roy's back, which makes Roy's shoulders twitch uneasily. "Well," Pinzer says, after a long pause in which Roy tries and fails to find any give in the ropes tying his arms to the chair. "I'm sure you know you are the only alchemist here."

There is a puff of hot air on Roy's neck. Roy doesn't flinch. Much. "I've been told," he says, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He has faced down homunculi and 30-meter Titans. He is not going to let a pack of small-time, two-bit thugs get to him.

"Well," Pinzer says conversationally, as if Roy is not tied to a chair, drugged, bruised and beaten. " _Idealiter_ , you would work for me _vrijwillig_. But I think you probably won't do that. Yes?"

Roy stares back at him, raising one eyebrow in a precise arch that always drives Levi crazy. "I already said you I wouldn't. _Tch._ Told you." He must still be under the influence of whatever drugs they'd spiked his drink with; he rarely gets 'say,' 'speak' and 'tell' confused anymore.

Pinzer tuts and dismisses the comment with a wave of his hand. "But that was for the military. This would be working for me _persoonlijk_."

As if that would be a big inducement. "Why would I want to work for you _persönlich_?"

"You've never been inside Wall Sina, have you?"

"No."

Erich and Klaus mutter to each other over Roy's head; behind him Roy feels Becker shift. Pinzer is looking relaxed and smug. Roy pulls against the ropes again. All he needs is to touch his fingertips together, just for a moment. But his hands are bound to the chair rails shoulder-width apart and the rope has no give whatsoever.

"It is a very different world in the Royal Capital," Pinzer says. "Everyone is healthy and _goed gevoed_." Well-fed, Roy thinks. "They live in big houses with nice clothes and servants and no one fears the Titans."

Roy takes his time answering, as if he is thinking it over. "If I wanted those things," he finally asks, "why would I need you to get them?"

Pinzer shrugs. "Maybe you don't. But you are supposed to be smart. I know people in power that you will never meet if you stay in the Scouts." The way he says 'Scouts' makes it sound like an obscenity. "I thought you might understand that working together would be better for both of us." He pauses, and the expression on his face slips towards a leer. "And of course, you can't protect Captain Levi _all_ the time."

Roy strains against the ropes again, hard enough to rip the skin around his wrists. "If you touch him, you know I'll kill you," Roy says levelly. "The first chance I have."

"Yes," Pinzer says, sighing melodramatically. "I thought that would be your answer." He nods over Roy's head to where Becker must be standing. A moment later, Becker's meaty, grimy hand comes to rest on Roy's shoulder. "If you won't work with me," Pinzer says. "Then you'll just have to teach me alchemy."

This statement is so ridiculous, Roy can't help but laugh. "Teach you alchemy," he says. "Don't you think if I could, I would have taught it to all the Corps by now?"

Pinzer does not seem to find this logic particularly persuasive. "No. I think you've been keeping it a secret. Do you know that word, secret?"

"Yes. Why would I keep it a secret?"

Now Pinzer laughs, and so do Erich and Klaus, and so does Becker, still with his hand on Roy's shoulder. "To keep all the power to yourself," Pinzer says, as if it's obvious. Maybe to someone like that, Roy thinks, it is. "Or maybe you just haven't been properly motivated."

Becker's hand on Roy's shoulder squeezes painfully. Roy swallows, though his mouth is so dry it hurts. "Maybe you're right," he says, then looks up at Becker, grinning. "Give me my gloves, and I'll show you how to do it."

He gets a smack across the face for his trouble, and behind him, he hears Becker sigh happily. Klaus and Erich crack their knuckles in anticipation. _Shit_ , Roy thinks, and braces himself.

The next few hours are some of the most unpleasant of Roy's life, including the time he was pinned down by swords through his hands. Roy's been trained to resist torture but he's never actually had to endure it, and the classes hadn't prepared him for exactly how much it was going to suck.

"I told you," he says, glaring up at Pinzer through the red haze of pain radiating from his shoulder, "I _can't_ teach you." He wouldn't even if he could, of course, but he can't, which makes this entire episode utterly pointless. More than bad enough he is being tortured at all; it's almost intolerable that he is being tortured for no reason. No one on this world seems to sense transmutation energy the way Roy does, not even Levi, who at least gets a kind of prickling feeling when Roy transmutes. Roy doesn't know how to explain how to sense something that to him is always present; it'd be like trying to teach someone to hear. In this case, it'd be like trying to teach a deaf person to hear: it's beyond ridiculous. It's impossible.

Becker leans forward, twisting the blade in Roy's shoulder until Roy can't help but scream. Again. He's allowed to scream, he thinks wildly. That's what they told him in that class. Screaming is okay; you can't help it, and sometimes it helps you bear the pain.

And that's all he has to do. He has to bear it, just a little longer, maybe, because surely Levi will come soon. Roy has been gone hours; Roy's been gone hours and hours and hours. Surely Levi is looking for Roy already, and surely, Levi will find him soon.

"Enough," Pinzer says, looking at a pocket watch and scowling. Becker leans back, taking the pressure off the knife with a hum of disappointment. Sadistic prick, Roy thinks, panting. Kimblee was like that too. In Ishval, Roy killed people because he was ordered to; Kimblee killed people because he liked it. Becker even looks a little like Kimblee, Roy thinks. Not the hair. Kimblee's was long and dark and well-groomed; Becker's is short and light and a mess. But they have the same flat planes of their face, the same sharp nose, the same deadened look in their eyes.

"We'll have to try this another way," Pinzer continues, with a small disappointed twist to his mouth. He flicks his head to the side with a sharp jerk, and Erich — no, it's Klaus — scuttles out the door excitedly.

Roy sits and breathes, dragging in short desperate breaths through his nose and letting them out through his mouth, careful not to hyperventilate. On the one hand, any change from the past several hours would be welcome. On the other hand, he can't imagine that whatever other way Pinzer is planning to use to convince Roy is going to be better. Roy can think of a lot of ways which would be worse.

Speculating is pointless. Roy just breathes, dizzy and nauseated, trying not to panic. His head is ringing and he hurts all over; his thoughts are muddled and sluggish. He tugs against the ropes around his arms, which are abraded from his wrists up to the middle of his forearms. He tugs again anyway. Roy has a plan, most of which involves him being able to bring his hands together just once. He is attacking the problem on two fronts: trying to loosen the ropes, a stratagem at which he has so far had only moderate success, and also weakening the structural integrity of the chair. Mostly this involves getting hit really hard. Roy doesn't particularly love this part of the plan, but the last time they'd punched him, he'd slammed back into the chair and heard a definite crack from somewhere, so … he will continue pissing off Becker and Erich to the best of his ability.

Klaus comes back in with a pitcher of water and a glass. Roy is instantly unbearably thirsty. He hasn't had anything to drink since the night before, and that was … a lot of hours ago.

"It's drugged, of course," Pinzer says conversationally as he pours a glass of water. "I was hoping you'd see reason without this. The _bijwerkingen_ can be unpleasant. But it's getting late and I have an appointment tonight. So." He sets the glass to Roy's lips. "Drink."

Roy would like nothing more. Well, nothing more except to wake up and have this be a particularly nasty dream. But he's not going to just drink a glassful of drugged water, no matter how thirsty he is. Especially a glass of water with unpleasant _bijwerkingen_ , whatever they hell they are. _Werkingen_ , that's like _wirkungen,_ he thinks slowly _._ Effects. Side effects, probably. Another word to write down in his notebook when he gets back home. _When_ he gets back. When, not if.

"You can drink it or we can force it down your throat," Pinzer says with a bored sigh. "Or I can pour some on a rag and make you breathe it in. But then it is harder to calibrate the dose." He pauses, looks at Roy almost disinterestedly. "Do you understand what that means?"

Roy does. The words are almost exactly the same. He swallows and nods, tugging again on the ropes, coarse fibers rubbing painfully against flesh already raw and bleeding. There is give, but not yet enough to be useful.

The water is still at his lips. Pinzer huffs in frustration. "Maybe you're stupider than I thought. It's drugged, not poisoned. Drink it. I know you're thirsty, Mustang."

Roy is thirsty. Very. And he's not stupid. He knows he's going to end up getting drugged either way. At least this way the dose is calibrated; at least this way, he gets to have the drink he so very much wants. Opening his mouth feels like ceding a battle, but if so, it's a battle he's already lost, and what are his options? If he has any others, his tired and rattled brain can't think of them.

And so Roy drinks. The feeling of cool water running down his throat is blissful, but by the time he's finished the glass he's already starting to feel the effects of whatever they've doped him with. He strains against the ropes again, hard; his wounded shoulder erupts in agony and the world starts spinning, but the effort is worth it because the rope slides fractionally farther up his left arm and the wood of the chair squeaks in protest.

It's progress. He's just not sure he's going to stay lucid long enough to take advantage of it. _Levi_ , he thinks desperately; _Levi, for fuck's sake, where the hell are you?_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger: Err, sorry? :) Debated it with SapphireMusings and she agreed this was the right spot to end the chapter. So don't blame me _entirely_.
> 
> Art: The art has nothing to do with this chapter, but I finished it and I figured after that ending we could use a little Roy being awesome. Harder than it looks to do things like take away humongous sword holsters and big swords. Still fun. Still wish I could actually draw.
> 
> And as always, comments=love! Please take a moment to drop a line. Hearing from you makes my day every time! Even if you're going to yell at me for leaving Roy drugged, beaten and tied to a chair.


	16. The burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And without further delay, the resolution. One long scene. Enjoy!
> 
> Levi makes a noise that even he doesn't know the meaning of. He doesn't know where he's going to go, only that it is somewhere off the base, because wherever Roy is, it isn't here, so staying here is doing nothing and Levi can't bear the thought of doing nothing any longer. He did nothing all day except nurse what he thought was a hangover and a petty sense of resentment that Roy wasn't there when Levi woke up. He'd wasted hours he could have spent looking for Roy because of an idiotic idea that people like Kenny might think Levi weak for caring for someone else. Levi had wasted hours because Moblit had called Roy Levi's boyfriend and said Levi was always mooning at him. Levi had wasted hours because he is obviously too immature to handle a real relationship. He'd wasted hours because of his own stupidity and selfishness and childishness. Roy's been alone and suffering for hours because Levi was too busy being _Levi_.

Levi's standing at the bottom of the infirmary steps, feeling anxious. The horse pill they gave him has finally started working. His head's still throbbing but it's less painful than it has been. The sun's just starting to sink towards the horizon, but in this time of year it will be hours before night sets in. Levi intends to have Roy home well before dark. "Five minutes," he tells Erwin flatly. "Whether anyone else is ready or not."

Erwin does not look particularly impressed with the flatness of Levi's tone. "And then what?" he asks. "Where are you going to go, Levi?"

Levi makes a noise that even he doesn't know the meaning of. He doesn't know where he's going to go, only that it is somewhere off the base, because wherever Roy is, it isn't here, so staying here is doing nothing and Levi can't bear the thought of doing nothing any longer. He did nothing all day except nurse what he thought was a hangover and a petty sense of resentment that Roy wasn't there when Levi woke up. He'd wasted hours he could have spent looking for Roy because of an idiotic idea that people like Kenny might think Levi weak for caring for someone else. Levi had wasted hours because Moblit had called Roy Levi's boyfriend and said Levi was always mooning at him. Levi had wasted hours because he is obviously too immature to handle a real relationship. He'd wasted hours because of his own stupidity and selfishness and childishness. Roy's been alone and suffering for hours because Levi was too busy being _Levi_.

Levi digs his fingernails deep into his palm to wrest his thoughts out of the swamp of guilt in his head. Feeling guilty won't help Roy. Finding Roy is the only thing that will help Roy. Levi is going to find Roy, kill Pinzer and Becker and anyone else in the vicinity, and deal with the guilt later.

Someone coming down the infirmary stairs bumps Levi's shoulder and mutters a perfunctory 'sorry.' A steady stream of people are going in and coming out of the infirmary, each concerned with their own problems. None of these people are worried about Roy. And that's only fair, Levi supposes; it's only right. Roy is just one man and even though he matters to Levi more than anyone else, there are hundreds of people in the Survey Corps, and they all have their own lives and their own concerns.

Which isn't to say that Levi is the only one worried about Roy. He's probably just the only one so consumed by it that his stomach feels as if it's going to twist itself right out of his body.

Moblit is off gathering information from his usual seedy contacts, and Mike and Lotte are following up on more respectable leads from the tavern, while Hange is pressing sources within the Military Police. Everyone who can be spared is doing something. Everyone but Levi, that is, who has been ordered into inactivity because Erwin is afraid of what Levi might do, if left unleashed.

Erwin is probably right to be afraid of what Levi might do if left unleashed. Levi is skirting the knife's edge of a very bad bout of overreactive violence.

Levi is not used to feeling this way. He is familiar with rage and he is familiar with fear, but this gut-twisting worry is something altogether new and horrid. Perhaps this is the price of becoming involved with someone. He's never really known it before; he's only known the grief that comes with loss.

Erwin is silent beside him, tapping his fingers absently on his thigh. Levi is certain that Erwin has never known this sort of worry either. Erwin has never cared for a fucking thing besides killing Titans in his entire misbegotten life. His single-minded focus makes him a good commander, but also means his interpersonal skills are lousy. Coming from Levi, whose own interpersonal skills usually start and end with 'fuck you,' that is a pretty dismal assessment.

"When we went to Command that day," Levi says, because if he doesn't start talking, he might start screaming, "Roy stopped to look in the window at Schneider's. He was looking at fabric for me, he said, but there was this shirt there. That blue he likes." That blue that _Levi_ likes, when Roy wears it. That Roy was wearing last night, because they'd gone to the tavern together and Roy had wanted to look good for Levi. "And I've been thinking, maybe he's going to walk up with a bag from Schneider's with that shirt in it. And some nonnevot from Opa's. And he's going to laugh at all of us for worrying about him."

"He wouldn't laugh," Erwin says. As expressions of sympathy go it's not entirely dismal, maybe even a step up for Erwin, but Levi is suddenly missing Moblit, who is usually an idiot but whose empathy and compassion are real and tangible. As much as Levi would like to maim Moblit sometimes, Moblit has proved over and over to be a good friend. To Roy and Levi both, but especially to Levi, who needs friends more than Roy; Roy seems to make friends just by walking past them on the opposite side of the street. Levi has more than once been envious of Roy's natural charm. Now it seems like every minute he spent on stupid emotions like envy was wasted time.

He should have known better. Losing Farlan and Isabel should have taught him not to take a single moment for granted.

He'll be better when they get Roy back. _When_ they get him back.

Levi takes a deep breath and jams his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they're shaking. "You're sure they're still in town?"

Erwin gives a half-nod of ambiguous agreement, like he's trying to convince himself as much as Levi. "Pinzer has a meeting at Command headquarters this evening. Unless he trusts Becker to move Roy himself, they're still here somewhere."

Pinzer is an arrogant, self-important jerk. He hadn't struck Levi as the sort of man to trust anybody with anything. If Roy is getting moved somewhere, Pinzer will want to supervise it personally. That's what Levi has to hope, because if Pinzer _had_ let Becker take Roy, then they've got almost a full day head's start. That won't make them impossible to find, especially if they stayed inside the walls, but will make it harder. And if it's harder to find them, if it takes Levi longer to track them down, then whatever they're doing to keep Roy quiet and compliant, whether they're beating him or drugging him or just physically restraining him, they'll have to do it for longer.

Levi's throat spasms. "I'm leaving now."

Erwin does not roll his eyes but it looks like a close call. "A minute ago, you said five minutes. You have no idea where you're going. As soon as Hange gets back we'll get the squad mounted up and go." He pauses and contorts his face into something earnest and sincere. "We'll find him. But we need to be smart about it."

Being smart is sensible. Being smart is rational. Levi is not feeling sensible or rational. He turns his back on Erwin and looks out over the town. The sun is large, hanging heavy and blood red in the sky. If Levi were superstitious, he'd see it as an omen. Levi isn't superstitious so all he sees is the sun painting the town in streaks of gold and shadow.

The base sits on top of a hill on the south side of Trost, so from this vantage point, Levi can see the pink-tipped roof of Opa's Bakery; the central Command offices are a few blocks farther north, taller than any other building in the city. Houses ring the areas to the north and east, shabbier and shabbier the closer the neighborhoods are to the wall. Scattered pockets of retail and shopping pop up every few blocks. There is a new restaurant Levi has been wanting to try with Roy. It's called the Buttered Duck, not to be confused with the Drunken Mallard, a pub Moblit likes to frequent. The industrial district lies to the west, row after row of warehouses and factories, plus the occasional odd shop and restaurant catering to people working in the area. Levi buys his tea from a small shop in that part of town. It's a long walk to get there but worth it; no other store mixes the blends as well.

Levi has taken Roy to the tea shop once or twice and Roy knows the area around the tavern where he plays piano very well, and of course he is intimately familiar with the route to and from Opa's because he can't resist the nonnevot, but there's so much of the city he hasn't seen. He keeps asking Levi to go with him and explore, but Levi's mostly content to stay on base and usually finds something else he could or should be doing, like doing laundry or cleaning his quarters.

The sky over the industrial district is always hazy; the factories burn coal and pump a black miasma of smoke into the air. The sky is particularly filthy today, appropriate for Levi's mood. He folds his arms across his chest and scowls at the smoggy view. Erwin takes a few steps closer to Levi and they stand side by side for a moment, just staring at the city, not speaking. Levi appreciates the silence from Erwin more than he would appreciate any attempt at speech. Levi almost never wants to hear what Erwin has to say, but Erwin's stolid, solid presence is comforting in its own way, even though Levi would never tell him that.

"At least it's not raining," Erwin says. He is frowning at the dirty smears of smoke in the sky, as if they are personally offensive. Perhaps they are. Levi doesn't mind them, which is sort of funny since he hates dirt everywhere else. But the air in the Underground was always stale and foul and filthy, and sometimes the grey clouds over the warehouses feel like home.

Levi doesn't feel the need to address the rain or lack thereof, but he turns around at the sound of Hange's steps, light and fleet and distinctive even on the hard stone stairway.

"Nothing," Hange says, without bothering to say hello. "But Pinzer's as dirty as they come, which isn't saying much for the MPs because they're all crooked. Still, his reputation is crookeder than most. Definitely runs guns, some seedier stuff too. But if he's got larger ambitions, he's kept them to himself."

Money and power are all that matter to the MPs, at least those who rise high enough in the ranks to matter. Levi's often wondered whether they are all dirty to start, if they are recruited because they fit a certain profile, or if simply being around so much corruption is inevitably corrupting. Pinzer has been in the MPs for decades. Levi remembers the way he had looked at Roy that day in Command, like Roy was something Pinzer could own.

Hange peers over Levi's shoulder. "Ugh. Boxtown is particularly filthy today. I thought the refinery was still shut down."

Erwin turns with a scowl. "It is. It's not reopening for another week."

"Huh," Hange says, and leans forward, eyes glinting keenly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Erwin says. "The water-cooling system is still being repaired. They're waiting for a part to come in from Stohess." His voice holds a slight bit of exasperation, the way it often does when it's Levi who is doing the questioning. Levi rarely hears that exasperation directed elsewhere. Even in the midst of all his swirling anxiety, Levi can still enjoy knowing that he is not the only one who pisses Erwin off.

"It's just that the refinery is the only place that puts out that much smoke."

Levi swivels to stare at Hange, then swivels back to stare down at the billowing clouds of grey. He doesn't even realize he's gripping the handles of his gear until Erwin taps him lightly on the back of his hand, drawing his attention back.

"You shouldn't jump to conclusions. It might not be Roy," Erwin says.

Levi is far beyond jumping to conclusions. He has already jumped, soared, and landed with his feet firmly in the ground. "The fuck else is it?"

Erwin is wearing his most reasonable face. "A decoy, meant to draw our attention away from somewhere else."

Levi frowns. "Where else?"

Erwin pulls out a map from his breast pocket, neatly folded along the creases. He opens it up and orients it, pointing with a neatly manicured finger. "Look. The warehouse district is here. Pinzer's house is here, on the opposite side of the city." The ritzy side of town, with the terraced houses and the neatly manicured lawns. No MP should make enough money to have a house like that unless he's dirty, but all the MPs are dirty. "It's hard to believe he'd be stupid enough to keep Roy at his house, but he might do it if he doesn't think we're smart enough to connect him with Strucker and Himmel through Becker. It'd be easy from there to get out of the city unnoticed, especially at night. He might think it's worth the risk, especially if he can get us all investigating a suspicious fire across town."

"You sent Gregor to the house already," Hange points out.

"There was nobody home but servants. We didn't get a warrant, so Gregor couldn't get in to look around, but he spoke to the servants and didn't think they knew anything."

Gregor grew up in the Underground, the son of a card shark who'd been gifted enough that even Kenny had known to steer clear of him. Gregor has been playing cards since before he could walk and can spot a tell from a kilometer off. He's banned from the troeven games and most of the other card games on base, though Roy will sometimes play dominos with him just for kicks.

Levi stares at the map and the small spot beneath Erwin's fingertip. "You think they might be there and the servants don't know it?"

"Maybe. The house is a fortress. Three stories, reinforced basement." The kind of basement where rich people hide if the walls to the city are ever breached, made of cement thick enough to withstand Titans until they've had their fill of the poor and unlucky. "If Pinzer is keeping Roy there, he might not tell the servants."

Levi is sure Pinzer wouldn't. Pinzer would want his servants to look honest to anyone who came knocking at the door, like Gregor had.

Erwin frowns at the map while Levi considers the distance between the two locations. He's strong and he's fast, but he hasn't yet figured out how to be in two places at once. He wishes he knew Pinzer better, that he could predict the way Pinzer's mind would work, that he could guarantee that whichever place he chose to go, he'd find Roy. "For all we know," he says sourly, "Roy's not in either place. We don't even know for sure that it's Pinzer who has him."

"It's the simplest explanation," Erwin says as if that's enough to make it true, and that's one thing Levi has always admired about him: not that he naively thinks the world operates in such a straightforward way, but that he believes he can bend reality to his liking through staunch conviction alone.

Erwin folds the map neatly, making it look far easier than it probably is for somebody with only one hand, and tucks it back into his pocket. He stares out at the city speculatively, his eyes flicking between the rolling clouds of grey smoke to the west and the well-tended houses to the east. "We'll send a team to each location," he says decisively. "Assuming it's Pinzer, he's got at least Becker, Strucker and Himmel with him."

"He'll have more," Hange interjects. "He's got his own private security force. Off the record. Unsavories he brought up from the Underground. No offense, Levi."

Levi shrugs. Everyone from the Underground's an unsavory as far as anyone who wasn't born there is concerned.

Erwin is scowling. "I don't want to start a fight with a private security force without speaking to General Pyxis."

Levi stares at him, not in a friendly manner. "That could take hours."

"I already sent a messenger," Erwin says. "Hopefully we'll hear soon. In the meantime, we can still send two surveillance teams and—"

Levi tunes Erwin out. Pinzer might not be the one who took Roy, but Roy is missing and there is a cloud of black smoke in the warehouse district. The simplest explanation is always the best. "I'm going to check out the fire," Levi says, letting electricity flood his veins and settle, sparking, within him. He unlocks the safeties on his gear and launches before Erwin can tell him to stop.

Hange catches up to him a few blocks away, which is impressive. Not too many people can catch him when he's in the air. "Erwin's pissed at you."

"Erwin's always pissed at me."

"More pissed than usual." Hange lands on the roof of the bank, resets, and launches again so smoothly even Levi has to admire it. Unlike Levi, who is self-taught and whose quirky technique shows it, Hange is exquisitely trained and every move is perfect. "He's taking a team to Pinzer's house."

Levi grunts to show he appreciates that Erwin is going himself. Erwin's almost always an asshole, at least to Levi, but Levi knows that's just their personalities clashing. Levi irritates Erwin almost as much as Erwin irritates Levi, maybe more. But it's all talk; Erwin doesn't let his feelings affect the way he actually treats Levi or influence any decisions he makes regarding Levi in the field or off it. He's a better man than Levi in that regard (in many regards, if Levi's being honest). And so if Erwin thinks there's any chance that Pinzer has stashed Roy across town in his fortress of a house, then Erwin's going to be the one to check it out personally, even if there cannot be two people in the entire Corps that Erwin likes less than Levi and Roy. Although Levi thinks that Erwin dislikes Roy only because he is part of a unit with Levi. Levi thinks that if Roy were just Roy, alone and unpaired with Levi, Erwin would have to like him, because everyone likes Roy.

"He doesn't hate you, you know," Hange says. Hange is disturbingly intuitive sometimes. "He really doesn't. He just doesn't understand what motivates you."

"Sometimes I don't understand what motivates me," Levi says. Then he points ahead to a cloud of dark smoke billowing out from a courtyard. The cloud is thick and dark, and it's impossible to see what's causing it or what it's masking. "There."

He lands lightly outside the courtyard gate, right in the midst of the Trost fire brigade. The leader is an older man with burn marks up and down his arms, camouflaged with tattoos. He's mostly bald; what hair he has is short and the color of pewter. His left eye appears to be fixed in a permanent squint and is surrounded by scar tissue. The man is directing other members of the brigade to get a fire cart and find the nearest hydrant. Water hydrants are still a novelty to Levi; in the Underground there was no running water and every fire was a catastrophe.

The man looks at Levi, and either doesn't recognize him or isn't impressed enough to care that he's talking to Humanity's Strongest Soldier. "This place one of yours?"

Levi has no idea. The Corps does own property beyond the base, but Levi's never bothered to learn where. Erwin would know. Levi looks at Hange, who shrugs.

"Don't know," Levi says. "What started the fire?"

"Fuck if I know," the man says, rubbing at his bristled chin. "Grease fire, probably. You can smell the meat burning. Probably one of those black market restaurants. You know, they steal a sheep, set up shop in some abandoned warehouse, get all the rich assholes to pay a couple hundred for a cutlet. But they're not careful with the gas, and _boom._ "

Levi didn't know black market restaurants were a thing, and he can't smell anything but fire.

Moblit swings down from a nearby roof and lands lightly next to Levi, retracting his bolts and stretching. "Ew," he says, making a face. "What smells?"

"Cooked sheep," Hange says blithely. "Supposedly."

"It stinks," Moblit says. "Not sorry I'm late to the party anymore." He screws up his nose exaggeratedly. "Any sign of him?"

Hange says 'no' at the same time as the leader of the fire brigade asks 'who?' but just at that moment, the sky behind the wall flares with a sudden flash of bright orange light. A cloud of black smoke bubbles up into the air. The man grunts, grumbles something like, "Fucking crazy in there," but Levi is frozen, because his skin is tingling the way it does when Roy transmutes. Usually, Levi has to be right next to Roy to notice it, but the sensation is unmistakable, even when it's faint like this.

"He's inside," Levi says to nobody in particular, then in the next instant, he's anchored his bolts and swung himself over the wall. Hange and Moblit follow just a few seconds later. They leave the fire brigade behind.

Inside the courtyard, it's chaos. There is so much ash and smoke in the air, it's impossible to tell where it's coming from. Half of the windows are blown out — from the heat alone, Levi thinks. Shattered glass litters the ground in sparkling crystalline piles. Piles of smoldering wood form a makeshift barricade that looks accidentally constructed: doors blown off their hinges and window frames and other debris Levi can't identify; maybe wooden outhouses, destroyed now, maybe the remnants of office furniture.

On the other side of the barricade, in the middle of the courtyard, stands Roy. He is still wearing the clothes he had on at the tavern last night, now grimy and torn and spattered with blood and dirt. His face is littered with cuts and bruises. Blood is smeared on his forehead, streaking out from under his bangs and down his cheek, and Levi sees another ominous dark patch on his left shoulder. The fabric's torn: probably a stab wound — Becker has a thing for knives, according to his file. Roy is listing, unsteady on his feet, only mostly upright. His eyes are glazed and not quite focused. Drugged, probably, or concussed. Maybe both.

Roy is surrounded by several smoking mounds of ash. Bodies, Levi realizes with a sickening lurch of his stomach. Bodies, or what's left of them. Just piles of ash now, but bodies a little while ago, and living people a little while before that.

Levi's gorge rises, but he swallows it down.

"He doesn't have his gloves," Moblit says incredulously.

"He doesn't need them," Levi says. He can't seem to stop staring at the ash-mounds littering the courtyard. There are at least a dozen. Surely … surely they can't _all_ have been people.

"He always uses his gloves when he's transmuting fire." There's a note of something Levi's never heard before in Moblit's voice: horror or maybe fear. "He needs his gloves to control the flame."

"Just to start it," Levi says, but the truth is, he's not entirely sure even that's true. Roy's never been able to satisfactorily explain how his alchemy works, hobbled by lack of common scientific vocabulary and lack of a common theoretical background. Hange had pressed and pressed on this point until concluding it was a futile effort. There are concepts Roy takes for granted that are totally alien on this world — the whole concept of transmutation in the first place, but also the energy that powers it, that Roy says feels different here than he's used to, that he accesses in some manner he can't articulate and they can't understand or replicate. "I don't think he needs them if he has some other form of ignition." Hange had wanted to test that too, but Roy was never without his gloves and Hange had soon found other, more interesting aspects of alchemy to investigate.

There's a sizzle of flame and a horrible, tortured scream. One of Pinzer's remaining men has tried to escape across the courtyard. He won't escape now. When Levi was distracted, Roy set the man on fire.

Levi's heard the sounds of death before. From a young age, death's been all around him. He's seen people get stabbed, beaten, hanged. Since he joined the Corps, he's seen people swallowed whole, bitten in half, decapitated. He's heard friends scream as their backs broke and their necks snapped. But Levi's never heard torment like this.

The unfortunate man — Levi thinks it was a man, though there's no way to tell anymore — lurches around in agony, screaming through the flames, until he finally falls to the ground and falls mercifully silent. He keeps burning even after he falls, and soon there's nothing there but another mound of ash.

 _I burned entire villages,_ Roy had said that day in Command. _Towns, cities, a whole nation of people. Do you truly believe you can control me?_

Levi supposes he hadn't really grasped it. He'd thought … well, he hadn't thought much about it, in truth. Maybe he'd been deliberately avoiding it, attempting to not understand what Roy had meant. But he doesn't think he'd have been able to conceive it could be true had he tried. He'd taken it as metaphor, maybe, a warning. He hadn't taken it seriously, not _literally_. He hadn't believed Roy had burned _people_. Pinzer obviously hadn't believed it either or he'd never have tried this.

Another one of Pinzer's minions crawls slowly out from the smoldering ruins, hacking grotesquely and whimpering. He's missing most of an arm and all of his hair. He looks up, sees Roy and screams: terrified, scuttling backwards in blind panic. Roy turns slowly to face him and stares at him for a moment, eyes blank. Then his expression turns dark and monstrous and he flicks his wrist, just a small twist, barely a movement at all, and light flares in a familiar pattern on the back of his hand. A stream of fire bursts into life from his fingertips, bright white and blinding. The unfortunate man on the ground goes up in a flash, the roar of the flames swallowing his agonized screams.

Moblit jolts and swears next to him, but it's already over, a body now where there had been a person a moment ago.

 _I have to stop this_ , Levi thinks, feeling vaguely ill. _Before he kills everyone. Before the city burns._

He's scrambling over the barricade before he can think twice about it. He's still buzzing with power. He'd been ready to kill Pinzer. He'd been ready to kill everyone. Now he just wants to stop Roy before he kills anyone else.

Closer in, the heat is incredible, so hot that the air is wavering with it, making everything look fuzzy and unreal, nightmarish. Levi sees even more bodies, or things that might be bodies. The wind, or maybe just the movement of the air from the flames, has swept through the piles of ash, shifting and distorting them, wispy black tendrils spreading out on the ground like misbegotten spiderwebs.

It's hard to breathe. The air's hot and acrid and foul, and ash is swirling in the air like little black snowflakes. He's breathing it in, Levi realizes, breathing in _people_ — revulsion chokes him and he gags, almost vomits.

He controls the reflex, makes himself breathe in shallowly, and moves a step forward. _What the fuck are you doing_ , he wonders dimly. Roy is more dangerous right now than any Titan, and he is drugged and injured and confused. If Levi makes one wrong move, Roy will incinerate him before Levi has a chance to even regret his mistake.

"Roy," he says tentatively, moving slowly with his hands held harmlessly in front of him, heart beating a hard painful rhythm in his chest. "Roy. It's me."

Roy turns slowly and looks at him without a hint of recognition, fingers twitching. Levi's heart rate triples and energy floods through him, setting every nerve alight. Levi wonders if he'd be fast enough like this to dodge a burst of flame. He hopes he doesn't have to find out because he suspects the answer is no. "It's Levi," he says. He keeps his voice pitched low and level, calm. It's hard; his heart's racing and he's drowning in adrenaline. " _Ich …est_ Levi?"

Roy's head cocks to one side, eyes narrowing, but he doesn't move to attack, though his fingers are still tense and threatening.

Levi takes another half step forward, moving slowly, ignoring every base instinct telling him to fight, to take all his power and use it to eliminate the threat. "You know me. Levi. _Du … du kennen ich_." He's butchering it, surely; he wishes he'd picked up more of Roy's language. He'll learn it now, he vows. He'll have Roy teach him, if he survives the night.

Roy raises a hand, fingers tensed. " _Lo_ ," he says, which means nothing at all to Levi. " _Lo lihitkerev."_ Roy's tone of voice makes it a warning, but the words are gibberish. Usually, Levi can get a sense of what Roy means when he's speaking his own language; there's a rhythm and flow to Roy's speech that feels familiar even if the particular vocabulary isn't, but this doesn't sound the same at all.

"Roy," Levi tries. "You're okay now. You're fine. _Ist gut._ "

Roy's eyes narrow and he grinds out something that is utterly incomprehensible. The words trip and stumble off Roy's tongue, uneven and stuttered. Unpracticed, Levi thinks, like it's another language altogether, one that Roy doesn't know all that well.

 _Oh_. Levi looks around at the smoking bodies and ruined buildings and thinks, _oh, **fuck**._

"Roy," he says, more calmly than he feels. "The war's over, remember? The … _das krieg_ … it's over."

Roy goes still and he stares at Levi. " _Ist verbei?"_ He looks around, eyes wild and uncomprehending. " _Nein, ist es nicht. Der feind ist hier."_

"Nobody's here," Levi says. "No enemies. The war's over. It's been over for a long time." He takes another cautious step forward, hands still up, palms open and facing front. "You're not there anymore. _Du … du ist nicht dar."_

 _"Du **bist** nicht **da** ,"_ Roy says faintly. He sounds confused, but his hands are slowly unclenching and he's staring at Levi with a puzzled expression, as if he knows who Levi is but doesn't understand why he's here.

"This isn't Ishval," Levi says, slowly and clearly. "Do you understand? _Du … du verstehe?_ This … _ist nicht Ishval._ " The foreign name feels funny on his tongue and he's not even sure he's gotten it right; Roy's only ever said it out loud in nightmares or drunken ramblings.

Roy blinks and looks around again, scanning the smoldering wreckage, the ashy corpses. He shudders once, hard, and some sort of awareness seeps slowly into his eyes. "Levi?"

Levi sucks in a breath, hard and painful in his heat-scorched throat. "Yes. Do you know where you are?"

" _Nein_." Roy looks entirely lost. " _Wo … wo sind wir?_ " He brings a shaking hand to his head; it comes away bloody and he stares at it, befuddled. " _Was ist lost_?"

"You know I don't speak Amestrian," Levi says. He risks another few steps forward, heart still hammering. He is definitely too close now to dodge if Roy attacks him, enhanced reflexes or no. "Can you speak my language, Roy? Do you remember it?"

" _Ihre sprache…_ " Roy says slowly. He swallows. "Yes. _Ich erinnere mich._ I remember."

"Good. That's good. Listen to me, Roy. You've been hurt, but you're safe now. I'm going to take you home, all right?"

 _"Hause_ ," Roy says blurrily. He sways and almost falls, but catches himself at the last minute, staggering a few steps until he regains his balance. " _Ich möchte_ _nach hause gehen_ ," he says, voice soft and plaintive. "I want to go home." Levi's throat constricts. He doesn't think Roy is talking about Levi's quarters.

"Okay," Levi says. "We'll go home. But first, what's in your hand? Can I see it?"

Roy blinks and looks down at his fist. He's clutching the small metal firebox. An ignition, Levi realizes. Now Levi understands why Roy is always carrying it around. It's not out of some sense of nostalgia; it's so he can start a fire even without his gloves. Levi feels stupid for never having realized.

" _Es gehört mir. Sie können es nicht haben_ ," Roy says defensively and takes a step back, clutching the box to his chest.

Levi doesn't panic. Much. "You're talking in Amestrian again," he says. "Remember? I can't understand you when you speak Amestrian."

Roy frowns in concentration. " _Es_ … it's mine. You can't have it."

Fuck, Levi thinks; he's terrible at this. Erwin is always the one who negotiates. Levi just goes in and pounds people until they are subdued. "I just want to see it. Can you show it to me, Roy?"

Roy's eyes widen and he backs up. " _Nein_ ," he says, his tone of voice making it a warning. He grips the starter tighter and starts to raise his hand.

 _Fuck_ , Levi thinks, _fuck fuck fuck, you idiot._ His muscles tenses and he prepares to dodge, even though he knows there is no way Roy will miss from this distance.

"Roy, please," he says desperately. "You were going to let me cut your hair, remember?"

As last words go, those are pretty terrible, he thinks. How pathetic, to go down in history like that.

But Roy freezes in place, staring at Levi. "My hair?"

"Yes, your hair. Remember? I was going to cut it for you. It's getting long. I told you I'd give you a haircut before General Pyxis came next week, and you were worried because you thought I'd do a bad job, but I told you I used to cut Farlan's hair, remember?"

Levi is babbling like an idiot, but he is not dead yet and Roy is not moving. One hand — the hand not holding the fire box — drifts slowly up to where his hair is dusting his collar. He looks confused. More confused than he already was. He leaves his hand at his neck for a moment, fingers now running along the fabric. He's wearing that blue shirt that Levi loves. Loved. It's ruined now. If Levi survives this, if Roy and Levi both survive this, Levi will have to see about getting Roy a replacement. Maybe that shirt from the window at Schneider's, even if it will cost three times as much as it should. Roy seems to find the feel of the fabric perplexing, and has dropped his gaze to stare down at himself.

" _Wo ist meine uniform_?" he mutters distractedly. He looks up again at Levi. " _Was_ … what happened to my clothes?"

"Those are your clothes. You got that shirt when you first came here, remember? You like to wear it when you go to town."

"Town," Roy says. He looks a little more alert now, and peers around the courtyard, brow furrowed. "I went to the tavern. I … " He looks down at his shirt again, then his eyes drift slowly to the smoking mound of ash near his feet. "Levi. You were there."

"Yes. You remember?"

"No. I … we went to the tavern, but you left, and …" Roy's eyes are searching without really seeing, struggling for the memory, "there … there were men, and they … they bought me ale and …" He shudders once, hard, and swallows. "You left but I didn't … I didn't leave with you."

"No," Levi says. He has been inching forward steadily all this time. He's reminded of the Night of the Spikes, when Roy had been lost in that strange fugue, eyes open but not seeing Levi. That night, everything had been fine once Roy had snapped out of it. This is different. Roy is at least somewhat aware of where he is, but he seems to be straddling the line; Levi is afraid that the wrong word or wrong movement could send Roy's mind back to Ishval, where everyone had been an enemy to slaughter. "I had a headache, remember?"

Roy hesitates, then shakes his head slowly. "No."

"I had a headache," Levi continues. "I didn't like the taste of the ale and someone else was playing piano. He wasn't as good as you. It sounded bad, so I left, but you wanted to stay. Someone had challenged you to a game of darts."

"Darts," Roy repeats. He frowns. "Yes. We played and … something was wrong. I couldn't … my _ziel_ was bad. I couldn't make the darts go where they should. I lost." He frowns again, and frustration and confusion flash across his face. He looks down at the ground, sees the piles of ash, pales and grips the firebox tighter. "Something was wrong with me."

"Roy." Levi is very close now. Close enough to take the firebox away from Roy if he were suicidal enough to try. He takes a deep, calming breath, and forces himself to stay relaxed and loose. "I'm sorry."

Roy stares at him. Charred bits of human skin and bone float through the air, caught up by the wind, surrounding Roy in a gruesome, otherworldly halo. It makes him look fey and mysterious, like a fairy king of old. "Why are you sorry?" He looks confused and wary in turns, and he has not let up his hold on the firebox.

"For this," Levi says, and leaps forward with all the enhanced speed and strength he can muster to punch Roy as hard as he can directly in the head.

Roy goes down like one of the wooden Titans they use on the practice field, splintering into a mess of jumbled limbs in the smoldering ash-heap by his feet. He doesn't move. His right arm is sprawled out at an odd angle, the alchemical array deep blood red etched in the back of his hand. Even now, he's still clutching the firebox. The first thing Levi does is pry it out of his fingers. Then he checks if Roy's breathing.

Roy's alive. Just unconscious. Levi straightens slowly and gives the all-clear sign. He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth.

Hange and Moblit race up to where Roy is half buried in the midst of the corpse he'd just incinerated. They are quiet and gentle as they lift and shift Roy out of the filth. Moblit brushes off as much of the ash as he can, hands shaking only slightly, while Hange swiftly trusses Roy up with a strange set of handcuffs. The cuffs keep Roy's hands separated so he cannot clap them, a precaution in case he wakes unexpectedly and doesn't know where he is, Levi supposes. Roy doesn't need his flame to be lethal. Just his hands and energy they don't know how to take away from him. Levi hadn't known the handcuffs existed but he's not surprised to see them. Hange probably has a custom set tucked away somewhere for Levi, too. That Hange brought them means only that someone, probably Erwin, had suspected that events might go this way but hadn’t wanted to tell Levi.

Levi turns away from Roy's unconscious body, finds a spot where no one can see him, and quietly throws up. He hasn't vomited in decades and it's as horrible as he remembers. He feels for Roy, who had suffered through this daily for months. But as horrible as it is, for the first time since he'd woken in the morning, head throbbing and Roy missing, Levi's stomach is settled. Roy is safe.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooookay, so that's over. I know some of you expected Levi to come in guns (swords) blazing, and kick Pinzer's butt and ... well, he _would_ have if Roy hadn't rescued himself first. (But looking at it another way, Levi just saved all of Trost, because Roy would totally have burned it all down. So there's that.) Also, I'm aware that it's unlikely Roy could actually burn someone to ash in a minute, but grant me the artistic license to handwave about the transmutation energy being really, really strong in the AoT universe and that's why he can.
> 
> Next chapter starts the very messy aftermath, in case this wasn't angsty enough and you're worried that this entire episode will be swept under the rug. Spoiler: It won't be.
> 
> Art: This one was technically very difficult, so please take a minute to admire the details like all the little fires and smoking piles of ash. ;) (Actually I'm just having fun doing these and you don't really need to admire them; the story is the main artistic endeavor here.)
> 
> Title: Credit to SapphireMusings who again saved me from having to come up with a title. As a reward for her, I think I took out about two dozen commas from this chapter before I posted it (probably half as many as I should have taken out, but better than none).
> 
> Oh, and a P.S. which I will have to go back and put into the author's note at the front of the story: I started writing this monster in Dec. 2018, long before this final season started airing and even before the second half of season 3 aired. This story is more or less canon-compliant from an AoT perspective with what we knew at the time I started writing it. We know a lot more now about the Nine Titans and Paradis Island and Marley, etc., but I knew none of that back then, and so the characters don't know any of it either.
> 
> Comments = love! Please, pretty please. They make me so happy. And I'll confess I'm curious if this resolution to the kidnapping is satisfying (I hope) or disappointing (I hope not).


	17. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath is just beginning. No one thought it was going to be easy, right?
> 
> Roy:  
> Roy's brain might be working at half speed but that's fast enough. Levi's trying to evade, but Roy won't let him. He has to know what he did. "How many people did I kill?"
> 
> Levi goes still. He's quiet for a long time, long enough for the sickness in Roy's stomach to spread like a poison to his feet, his heart, his hands, with every beat of his thumping heart. "I don't know," Levi says finally, which must be a lie. But Levi wouldn't lie to Roy. Levi wouldn't lie to Roy unless he didn't want Roy to know the answer.
> 
>  _Not again_ , Roy thinks sickly. _Not people, not again._
> 
> Levi:  
> "He could drip blood onto the bed and draw an array that way. Or maybe just making indentations in the sheets would be enough. Maybe he can create a circuit with two fingers on the same hand. We don't know. I don't think he knows. But I think that if he's feeling enough pressure, he might react on instinct. And then I guess we'd see what he can do when he's threatened, but we might not like it."

Roy wakes up feeling the worst he can recall in recent history, possibly the worst he has ever felt, though probably that wouldn't be true measured objectively. He is not capable at the moment of being objective. His head is pounding, his mouth feels bruised and swollen, and his shoulder aches with a dull persistent throb that promises to turn significantly more painful if he tries to move. His lungs are burning, his ribs hurt, and he is thoroughly, hopelessly nauseated.

He stays still for a moment, hurting and miserable. The world is nothing but dark grey to match his mood, but eventually he realizes that he can solve that problem, if not the others, by opening his eyes. This turns out to take a not-inconsiderable effort, and all it accomplishes is to trade a gray world for a blurry white one. He blinks a few times until his vision clears, but still all he sees is white. Puzzled, he blinks a few more times without appreciable impact on the view until it occurs to him that he's staring at the ceiling.

The ceiling is neither particularly interesting nor particularly informative, but it takes him a long time to realize that he can solve _that_ problem by turning his head. The pounding in his head doubles in intensity when he shifts, as does his nausea, and it's several minutes of shallow breathing before he can risk opening his eyes again. When he does, his vision is still blurry. That's worrisome, but his head's still fuzzy and he thinks he might be kind of high.

Through the blur, he's able to make out a familiar chest of drawers, a wooden table. He's in his bedroom … no, Levi's bedroom … the bedroom he sometimes shares with Levi. Levi is not immediately visible. That's also worrisome … perhaps? No, he decides eventually. It's not especially worrisome. Levi hardly sleeps and Roy's restless at night, which drives Levi up and out of bed to clean his small quarters, easing some compulsion Levi can't quite explain. So, Levi being absent isn't necessarily something to worry about even if Roy were capable of it at the moment, which he really isn't. His thoughts are gelatinous and sloppy.

By the angle of the light through the blinds, it's early afternoon. Roy blinks his way through the implications, mind working at half speed at best. He feels like shit. It's the afternoon and he's in bed, with what seems to be a horrendous hangover and several physical injuries. But he's not in an infirmary bed and Levi is not hovering over him looking anxious, so apparently he's not so seriously injured despite how horrible he feels.

His train of thought stutters there and slows to a halt. If there is more to conclude, it's beyond his capabilities at the moment. He has no idea what happened; his mind is as blank and uninformative as the ceiling. He must have been in a fight. Maybe he got drunk? Maybe he got drunk and into a fight? Maybe he got _blackout_ drunk and into a fight … shit, Levi is going to _murder_ him, and Roy deserves it, too; what was he thinking? Of course, he probably wasn't; if he was drinking that much, he probably wasn't thinking at all, and that's one of the reasons he doesn't drink so much anymore, so why did he? Why would he?

"Levi?" he risks. It comes out like a croak. His throat is scratchy and sore, so not only was he idiotically, sloppily drunk, he was probably shouting too — or, shit, maybe he'd been _singing_ ; no wonder he got into a fight, if he'd inflicted his singing voice on people. He moans in horrified embarrassment and tries to pass out, with no success.

The toilet flushes and Levi comes out of the bathroom in a hurry, drying his hands on his pants which is so unlike Levi that Roy's pretty sure he must have imagined it.

"Roy?" Levi looks relieved to find Roy awake, though his tone sounds strangely cautious. "I thought I heard you. How are you feeling?"

There are no words in either of their languages that would appropriately answer the question. Roy settles for "horrible."

Levi looks more sympathetic that he ought to, if Roy had really gotten so drunk that he'd been singing and brawling. Levi sits carefully on the side of the bed and pokes at Roy's temple, where, it seems, Roy's got a bandage. Maybe that's why Roy's head hurts so much: he got punched in it. "I'll bet. How much do you remember?"

Roy shrugs, which is a mistake. His vision goes red as his shoulder explodes in pain, and when he comes back down he's sweating and Levi is standing over him looking panicked. "Don't move, you idiot. You'll rip the stitches."

"Stitches?" Roy repeats dumbly.

"Yeah," Levi says, frowning. "You know, when you're cut and they have to sew you up. With a needle?" He makes a sewing motion.

"I know what stitches are," Roy says. He's all too intimately familiar with them, in fact. He was a reckless child. "Why did I need stitches?"

Levi frowns and appears to be considering whether he should answer. "Um," he says finally. His tone is still off. He sits back down on the bed, but it looks jerky. Deliberate. "You were stabbed. You don't remember?"

"Stabbed? No, I don't …" But then Roy does, all of a sudden; he remembers Becker standing over him, smirking, knife in hand, blade glinting red. Roy's shoulder had been flaring, pain bright and searing, and he'd been so dizzy and muddled that it had been impossible to think straight, but he remembers being so _angry_ — then Pinzer had been there and Roy had spit, he thinks, in Pinzer's face and Pinzer had snarled and smacked Roy hard and then … something had happened that Roy can't quite recall, but he remembers the sharp satisfying crack of wood breaking, feeling so triumphant, transmuting away the ropes that had bound him, and then … something else had happened that he's also forgotten, but he remembers being upright, gripping his lighter, the rough corner scratching his palm, and … and his head had been foggy but he'd been furious, livid … his hand had been stinging, aching; he'd flicked the lighter, and then … and then …

His stomach twists hard and he swallows a moan, flinching out from under from Levi's gaze. He tries to twist away but his hands jerk to a stop, stuck; a chain rattles and pulls tight; metal cuts into his wrist. He's cuffed, he realizes, eyes tracking sluggishly down his arms to the chains disappearing underneath the blankets. He's been restrained and drugged, and there's only one reason Levi would have allowed that. His stomach clenches again and for a moment he's afraid he's going to be sick in the bed, for which Levi will never, ever forgive him.

"How many people," he whispers hoarsely.

A tiny wrinkle mars Levi's forehead, but his voice, when he speaks, is perfectly level. Too level to be natural. "What do you mean?"

Roy's brain might be working at half speed but that's fast enough. Levi's trying to evade, but Roy won't let him. He has to know what he did. "How many people did I kill?"

Levi goes still. He's quiet for a long time, long enough for the sickness in Roy's stomach to spread like a poison to his feet, his heart, his hands, with every beat of his thumping heart. "I don't know," Levi says finally, which must be a lie. But Levi wouldn't lie to Roy. Levi wouldn't lie to Roy unless he didn't want Roy to know the answer.

 _Not again,_ Roy thinks sickly. _Not people, not again._ "Tell me."

Levi swallows, frowns, and looks away. He takes too long to answer. "I can't."

 _Can't._ That's … that's bad, Roy thinks. Erwin must have ordered Levi not to say. His pulse quickens and anxiety lights up his nerves, even through the haze of the drugs.

"Hey," Levi says, breaking into Roy's thoughts with a gentle squeeze on his hand. "You want some water?"

"Yes, please," Roy manages.

Levi pours a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, then helps Roy sit up enough so he can drink it. The water feels blissful on his throat and is worth the pain of moving, but then Levi helps him lie back down and that's not blissful at all. Roy's sweating again by the time they're done and it takes him a few minutes to stop panting. "Am I under arrest?" he asks, when he can talk again.

Levi scowls at him like it's a stupid question. The scowl looks natural, at least. "No."

Roy raises a wrist, rattles the chain of the handcuff that's tethering him to the bed frame.

"That's just a _voorzorgsmaatregel_ ," Levi says.

Roy cannot even begin to guess. "Voorz-what?"

Levi grimaces. "It's for protection," he says, though he doesn't say whose. "Until we could be sure … you didn't know where you were when we found you. You thought you were still in Ishval."

"Oh," Roy says faintly. He remembers now, but it's blurry, like a dream. A piece of random memory flits through his head and he frowns. "Did you talk to me in Amestrian?"

"I tried …?" Levi says. "I wasn't sure you'd understand me any other way."

"Your grammar was terrible."

Levi runs his hands through his hair sheepishly. "I know."

"Thank you anyway." Roy lies there quietly for a moment. "It was smart. If you hadn't, I might have …" He swallows. "I might have burned you." If he'd thought he was in Ishval, if he hadn't recognized Levi, he might have. If he'd felt threatened, he _would_ have. He would have burned Levi; he would have killed him; he would have killed Levi; he would have …

"Hey," Levi says again, urgently now, dragging Roy up and out of his spiraling thoughts. "I'm fine. You didn't hurt me."

"Not you," Roy says dully. "But the others. Pinzer's men. I killed them."

Levi shifts, looking away. "… yes."

"How many? Levi, I have to know."

Levi looks at him again, mouth set in an unhappy line. Then he looks down at his hands and twists his fingers nervously around each other. "I can't tell you an exact number," he says finally. "Not for certain." He breathes once, in and out, then seems to come to some sort of decision. His spine straightens and he looks Roy directly in the eyes. "At least 30."

"Thirty," Roy tries, but the word sticks in his throat.

"Thirty we were able to identify," Levi says. His eyes skitter away from Roy again, this time to the window. "As human. There were other … other remains that we thought might be, but … there wasn't enough left to be sure. The, um, the _patholoog_ is working on them."

Roy's breath catches and holds and for a second all he can hear is the pounding of blood in his ears. _Monster_ , he thinks _, murderer_ , and the voice in his head sounds like every Ishvalan child who'd looked at him and screamed in terror, every grieving parent who'd spat at him with hatred in their eyes.

"Hey," Levi says, tapping on his wrist. "It wasn't your fault. Pinzer kidnaped you. He drugged you and stabbed you and beat you. No one blames you."

 _I blame me_ , Roy thinks, but all he says is, "All right."

Levi doesn't look convinced but he lets it drop, trailing his fingers down from Roy's wrist to his right hand. He strokes lightly over a new circle scratched sloppily into the back, curious. "I saw this light up in the courtyard."

"Mmm," Roy agrees. He closes his eyes. Levi's fingers are cool and soothing, and the touch makes Roy feel marginally better. He doesn't remember carving the array into his hand, but he's not surprised he did it. Pinzer had been arrogant and stupid, but not stupid enough to give Roy his gloves. Only stupid enough to leave Roy's lighter on the table in easy access.

"I guess they didn't realize you could transmute flame without your gloves."

"Luckily," Roy says, though it hadn't been lucky for anyone but Roy.

Levi traces his fingertips around the edges of the circle, following the pattern Roy had carved into his skin. His voice is pitched low, mildly curious. "Clapping doesn't work for flame?"

"It would work," Roy says. "But it would be much less … _präzise_?"

"Precise," Levi says.

"Yes," Roy says. _At least for me_ , he thinks. Ed and Alphonse, perhaps, would with study and practice be able to control the resulting raw surge of alchemical energy enough to convert the gas, but Roy thinks he'd probably blow up everything in a 30-foot radius, whether he intended to or not.

Levi nods, chewing absently at his lip. "It still seems"—he hesitates, glancing at Roy's face briefly as if to gauge his expression then dropping his eyes back to Roy's mutilated hand—"extreme. When you have all the other kinds of alchemy you can do just by clapping."

Without the self-harm, he doesn't say. Roy breathes. "Yes, but flame is …" He thinks hard, trying to get his muzzy thoughts to cohere better. "It's _gewohnheit_ ," Roy says. "That's … when you do something often, you don't think about doing something different?"

"Habit," Levi says.

"Habit," Roy repeats. "I've always used the circle. It's the easiest way for me." Roy lifts his hand into the light as far as the cuffs will let him, hissing slightly at the pull on his ribs. The array is bright red and the flesh of his hand looks pale and sickly in comparison. Roy has a vague sense memory now of sharp stinging pain, of cutting his flesh with the same blade Becker had stabbed Roy's shoulder with. Becker had already been dead by that point, Roy thinks, impaled through the heart by a stone spear Roy had transmuted from the wall. Strucker and Himmel had been grotesquely dead beside him. Roy doesn't remember exactly how he'd killed them, but from what he remembers of their distorted, bloodied bodies, it had been vicious and gruesome. That's what Truth has done for him: let him learn new ways to use alchemy to murder people.

Roy swallows hard and lets his hand drop back down to the bed.

Levi grunts thoughtfully and runs his fingers around the edges of the array again, like it's something intriguing, not a murder weapon. "When I made the gloves for your birthday, I was so careful to get everything exactly right. I thought they wouldn't work otherwise."

The gloves Levi had made for Roy are exquisitely perfect. When he uses them, Roy can singe the wings off a fly. "When I first learned, I needed the array to be exactly right. Now I know the alchemy so well even a bad copy will work, but the shape is still important. Master Hawkeye always said the cleaner the circle, the cleaner the transmutation. This circle is messy. My, _was ist,_ my aim wasn't good."

"Good enough," Levi says. His voice is bland, neutral. Roy tries not to read anything into it.

"Also," Roy says. "It hurts."

Levi snorts. "Carving a circle into your hand? I'd think so."

"Doing the transmutation this way. It hurts. With the gloves it's painless, but like this, it's … like _blitz_ … _ahm,_ that is lightning. Like lightning running through an open wound." It's agonizing, actually, but Roy thinks that's fitting. It shouldn't be painless to kill people. It shouldn't be easy.

Lei thinks for a moment, wearing a slight frown. "How about a tattoo?"

"Possible," Roy admits. "I've never really thought of it seriously, although maybe I should." He doesn't like the idea of permanently branding himself that way, though. At least he can put the gloves away sometimes and pretend to be someone other than the Flame Alchemist, even if on the inside, that's all he'll ever be.

Levi nods absently. He traces his fingers around the circle a few more times, then sits up straight. "Do you want something to eat?"

Just thinking about food is nauseating. "I'm not hungry."

"You should eat anyway. Did Pinzer feed you?"

Roy has to sift through the fog of his memories, which is not particularly pleasant. The more he remembers the worse he feels. "He gave me some water." At least he thinks so. It's possible he'd been hallucinating, though he's pretty sure he remembers a glass at his lips at some point, and a jumble of emotions about it. His memories are highly muddled, and he isn't sure what's real and what isn't. Whatever drugs they'd given him to keep him docile had left him tripping hard for the first several hours and groggy for even longer afterwards.

He remembers Pinzer asking him about alchemy though. Over and over. Roy could not have given Pinzer any useful information even had he been inclined to, and he is certain that even drugged, he would not have been so inclined. Since he'd been tripping, he'd probably been smarmy and obnoxious about it, too. That might explain why his ribs feel like a horse ran him over.

"Then you should definitely eat. It's been almost two days."

"I'm not hungry, Levi."

Levi frowns and looks over to the dresser, scowling. "Not eating is only going to make it worse."

"Make what worse?"

Levi frowns deeper, still looking at the dresser. Roy tries to follow his gaze, but it's hard to turn his head without moving his shoulder. All he can see is a blurry yellow container of some kind. Roy doesn't recognize the color but he recognizes the shape from his multiple visits to the infirmary.

Roy's stomach clenches hard with anxiety. "They want you to drug me."

Levi looks pained but he doesn't deny it. "It's just a _kalmerend middel_."

Roy's too groggy to even try to guess what that means. "A what?"

"To help you stay calm. It won't put you to sleep."

Roy is handcuffed to a bed. Every part of his body hurts; most specifically, his shoulder is killing him, his hand is burning and his head is throbbing. Pinzer or one of his thugs must have punched him in the head, though he doesn't remember that any better than anything else. He would welcome a drug to put him to sleep, preferably one that would keep him asleep for several years. But he doesn't want a drug to keep him _calm._ That's what the Amestrian army did during the war to the alchemists who went crazy but who were too valuable to kill. They drugged them; kept them loopy; kept them pliant; kept them stoned and laughing until their skills were needed. They'd drugged Kimblee for months at a time, then they'd stopped the drugs until withdrawal drove him crazy. Then they'd set him loose on the Ishvalans and he'd massacred everyone he laid eyes on.

"Hey," Levi says. He looks worried. "I'm not going to force it on you if you don't want it."

"I don't," Roy manages, barely. "I don't want it." His breath is coming hard and fast all of a sudden, and he feels a little dizzy. His eyes are burning. When he tries to rub them, the handcuffs pull taut and cut into his wrists. Some kind of distressed noise escapes him. Military Command is going to lock him up and drug him and then take him out when they need him to kill. He's seen it happen before. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be like that. Better that Scouts just kill him, like the Amestrians should have killed him after Ishval.

"Shit," Levi mutters. Roy can barely hear him over the sound of his own panicked breaths. "Calm down. No drugs, all right? I promise."

Levi wouldn't lie to him. Roy knows that. But the little jar with yellow fluid is there on the dresser, and maybe, maybe Levi _would_ lie to him now, now that he knows what Roy is really like underneath, now that he has _seen._ Levi's loyalty has to be to the Scouts. It always has been, but especially now Levi must put the Scouts first, now that he knows that underneath it all, Roy is a rabid dog that would be best off put down.

"Fuck," Roy hears, a second before Levi slaps him hard across the face.

Getting slapped is qualitatively different than getting punched. Roy's cheek bursts into flame. Figuratively, not literally. His eyes water. "Ow," he says helplessly. His hand jerks involuntarily towards his face, but he can't reach it, so he's left just blinking the tears out of his eyes.

Levi is hovering over him, looking like he's waiting to slap Roy again. He stares at Roy hard for a moment before sitting cautiously back down on the bed. "Better?"

Roy nods once. "Yes. I … I think so. Yes." His thoughts have stopped spiraling, at least, and his heart's rhythm is creeping down. He's still humiliated.

"Look," Levi says. He takes a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know exactly what you're thinking. But I know the _way_ you think, and you have to stop. Whatever you're afraid is going to happen, whatever you're thinking about yourself, it's not true."

Roy is thinking he's a soulless murderer, and that it is quantifiably true, but he doesn't think Levi will be very happy to hear that.

Levi scowls at him, though, so viciously that Roy's afraid he must have said something out loud. "Just …" Levi says. He looks away, up at the ceiling, across the room, out the window. Finally, his eyes settle on Roy. He sets his jaw. "Just wait, all right? Before you _veroordeelt_ yourself."

Roy's head is pounding too hard for him to attempt to figure that one out. "Before I what?"

" _Veroordeelt_ ," Levi repeats. "Um. If you … if you're arrested, and you have a .. a _proces_? With a _rechter_?"

Trial and judge are easy enough, but Roy is not thinking very clearly and so it takes him a while to deduce Levi's meaning. When he does, he kind of wants to laugh, but he's afraid that if he does he will sound hysterical. He's already convicted himself years ago, and all the time since he has spent trying to atone, but he hasn't been able to change what he is at his core. In the end, he is a killer.

Levi mutters something under his breath that Roy does not catch, then leans forward and takes Roy's hand, the one with no array carved into the back. "I can see what you're thinking," he says. "And I understand it. But what you did … all it says about you is that when you're attacked, you'll defend yourself. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Roy disagrees, but Levi leans forward, staring intently into Roy's eyes. "You already told us what you did in Ishval. You told everyone exactly what you did and no one gave up on you then. Why do you think we're going to give up on you now?"

Roy's breath leaves him in a slow, steady stream. He turns his head away. "You didn't understand before. You heard, but you didn't see. What I am like. Really. Underneath it all."

"That's where you're wrong," Levi says. He doesn't let go of Roy's hand, and he twists his head around to find Roy's eyes. He is small and fierce. Roy is cuffed to the bed and there is nowhere to go to escape him. "I knew then exactly what you were like, and nothing's changed."

The bitter sound Roy makes in response is not quite a laugh. Levi's right, of course. Nothing's changed. Nothing _changes_ , no matter how hard Roy tries.

Levi sighs and shrugs, conceding a small point. "You've never lied to us about who you are and what you've done. I don't think …" He pauses, his face twisted into a small scowl. "All right. The next few days are probably going to be really shitty. But it'll pass. It passed before, didn't it? In Amestris, after the war?"

Roy heaves in a breath that feels like poison. "… yes. After some time. We won, after all. They gave me a medal and called me a _helden_."

"Hero, huh?" Levi scoffs. "Good way to fuck you in the head, I'll bet." He is still holding Roy's hands, and the grip of his fingers is warm and grounding. He squeezes: a signal of some sort. "Erwin's going to want to talk to you when you're up for it."

Roy is up for nothing except lying in bed feeling miserable and hating himself. Some sort of expression must cross his face, because Levi's eyes soften. "Not right now, you idiot. I think you're still feeling the painkillers. Your face is all …" He makes a motion with his hands which presumably is supposed to indicate something relevant, though Roy's not sure whether Levi's referring to the expression on it or the bruises Roy hasn't seen yet but is sure are spectacular. He still doesn't remember exactly what happened but is starting to remember his escape plan and how it involved getting hit a lot. Riza tells him he makes getting punched into the face an art form. "Are you sure you won't eat something? Moblit brought some of that porridge you like. I could heat it up."

Roy wouldn't necessarily say he likes the porridge here. The best thing he can say about it is that it is inoffensive. But it's true that sometimes he finds having hot cereal soothing. He has vague recollections of eating something similar as a young child, a savory rice pudding maybe, a shadowy figure in the background standing by the stove stirring the pot while he took tiny spoonfuls, blowing on each one so as not to burn his tongue. The memory's old and dim, but Roy thinks sometimes he must be remembering his mother. "I'll try some porridge," he agrees. "Just a little bit."

"Good," Levi says. He holds onto Roy's hand for another minute, then heaves himself to his feet. "It'll be all right, Roy."

Roy isn't sure he agrees, but he says, "okay," because he's too tired to argue.

Levi turns and gives him a look that says he isn't buying Roy's bullshit. He comes back to the bed, kisses Roy hard and stares intently into his eyes. "I'd have killed a thousand people to get you back. And I wouldn't feel sorry about a single one of them." Then he turns and leaves, taking the small yellow vial with him.

Roy sighs and sinks back into the pillow. Levi's predictably bloodthirsty admission is about as close to an "I love you" that Roy thinks he's ever likely to get.

He'll take it. It's more than he deserves, anyway.

* * *

Erwin comes by when Roy has fallen back asleep, having eaten a little porridge and a small hunk of stale bread softened in hot tea. He'd looked a little green by the end but he'd kept it down, and that's good enough for Levi. Doctor Jansen had warned that the painkillers were probably going to suppress Roy's appetite, and said it was more important that he drink than eat.

Levi's not particularly upset about telling Erwin that he'll have to wait to see Roy. Roy's reaction to hearing about the people he'd killed had been less extreme than Levi had feared but worse than Levi had hoped, and Levi's afraid that speaking with Erwin now might drive Roy past the point of easy return. Levi had figured out some time ago that Roy had a tendency towards melancholia; what at first Levi had attributed to stress and unease about his general situation, Levi had gradually realized was more a permanent feature of Roy's temperament.

Which ... fine. Levi's an asshole, and that's a permanent feature of _his_ temperament, so he's not one to throw stones, unless it's to hit someone with them.

Melancholia explains a lot about the drinking at least, though from what Levi has seen in his own life, alcohol only makes struggling people feel worse in the end. They've been working on the drinking, though, and Roy's been making significant progress: He's been drinking less frequently, and less on the nights that he does indulge. It's just that Roy had struggled so much with his past already; Levi's worried that this will be the blow Roy can't recover from.

Erwin inexplicably sticks around when Levi tells him Roy's asleep and unavailable for questioning. Why Erwin stays is a mystery; he can't possibly think Levi actually _wants_ him here. But here he is, meandering around Levi's quarters, restless and uncomfortable in a way he usually isn't. He looks tired. More tired than usual. Or maybe more tired than Levi thinks is usual. Seems that lately Levi always thinks that Erwin looks more tired than usual, which maybe means that the usual, for Erwin, has changed.

There's a sigh and a rattle of handcuffs from the other room. Levi ducks into the bedroom, but Roy is still asleep on his back. He'd probably tried to turn to his side and been prevented by the cuffs. He must be deeply under to have slept through that failed attempt.

"He's still cuffed?" Erwin asks when Levi comes back out. It's a stupid question. He'd heard the chains rattle. Unless he thinks Levi and Roy are into some weird kinky shit — which, to be fair, they _are_ occasionally, but not _now._

"Only until he wakes up again," Levi says. "If he's lucid, I'm removing them." He frowns. Roy had been severely distressed at the thought of being drugged, but he hadn't complained once about being restrained. Even though it must hurt, with that stab wound and his injured ribs.

Erwin is standing in front of the window with his back to the outside. It's early evening and the sun is sinking down towards the horizon, casting swaths of warm gold across the sky, outlining his hair like a halo. He looks severe and momentarily otherworldly. "You're sure that's safe."

No, Levi thinks. He doesn't admit that out loud. "I'm not sure we could keep him restrained," is what he says instead. "Not if he really felt threatened."

"I thought you took away his gloves." Now Erwin sounds vaguely alarmed. He steps away from the window towards the couch as if he's going to sit down, but Levi hasn't invited him to sit and Erwin's manners are too impeccable for such an impropriety. He settles instead for running his fingers along the top of the couch, picking at a pulled nub of fabric.

Levi doesn't particularly want Erwin picking at his couch. Bad enough that Roy does it compulsively. He nods at the sofa to indicate it's okay for Erwin to have a seat. "His gloves are in the kitchen," along with the firebox and every match Levi could find, because Roy still has that array carved into his hand and the marks are fresh and clear. Maybe his aim with it as not as precise, but it'd been good enough to reduce dozens of people to ashes. "But he doesn't need flame alchemy to escape."

Erwin collapses onto the sofa and rubs the back of his head, eyes closed and nose scrunched. It's a very human gesture. Levi's not used to thinking of Erwin as human. "Hange said that separating his hands would work."

"I think it will," Levi said. "To a point." But they don't really know how alchemy works, not even Hange, who's studied it more than anyone else here. They still don't understand how Roy accesses transmutation energy and they have no way to cut off his connection to it. "Even Roy isn't sure how clapping works. He just does it. He says it closes a circuit. The array on his glove performs a similar function, but it's not the same."

Erwin purses his lips. "But if he doesn't have his gloves and can't clap, then—"

"—then we don't know," Levi says. "He could drip blood onto the bed and draw an array that way. Or maybe just making indentations in the sheets would be enough. Maybe he can create a circuit with two fingers on the same hand. We don't know. I don't think he knows. But I think that if he's feeling enough pressure, he might react on instinct. And then I guess we'd see what he can do when he's threatened, but we might not like it."

Erwin stares at him with shadowed eyes and doesn't say a word.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not force him to figure it out." Levi gets up and brings a bucket of soapy water into the living room, placing it carefully on the table. His trousers from yesterday have been soaking for several hours. Normally he would clean them in the bathroom, but as much as Levi doesn't really want Erwin in his quarters, he wants Erwin alone in his quarters unsupervised even less.

When Levi brings out his laundry, Erwin gets up from the couch and starts examining the rest of the room. Levi has a small battered side table from a second-hand store, made from a light brown wood with cheap metal hardware. He doesn't like a lot of clutter in his quarters but Roy is more of a collector and the table's accumulated a few things that Roy's seen and found interesting, but that he had no place to display in his own small room: an oddly colored rock from one of Roy's early expeditions, a child's spinning top that Roy uncovered in the wreckage of a village beyond the wall, a shot glass etched with a design that, if you look at it just right, resembles male genitalia. Moblit had given the glass to Roy, and Roy laughs every time he sees it because he has the sense of humor of a 14-year-old boy. The shot glass is of course the one item that Erwin's restless eyes have landed on. He picks it up turns it over and over in his hand, rolling it between his fingers.

Levi tries to keep his expression bland. He wrings out the trousers and attacks them with a scrub brush.

Erwin puts down the shot glass seemingly without twigging to the inappropriate artwork. Which is no surprise, really, because Erwin has no sense of humor whatsoever, but nevertheless a tiny bit of a relief because Erwin can cast judgmental looks like he's vying for an award.

"How was he when he woke up?"

Levi shrugs, scrubbing a little harder at a stubborn stain of greasy black decorating the knee. He tries not to think of it as human remains; Roy burned down most of Pinzer's stronghold, so from a probabilistic perspective, just looking at physical mass, the ash was likely something else, like wood or food or linens. It's just that Levi had been in the courtyard, and most of the ash in the courtyard had been human, and that's where he'd gotten the stain. He'd toss the trousers, but he likes them otherwise and it seems stupid to throw away a perfectly good pair if he can clean them adequately. It also makes him feel like he'd be a hypocrite telling Roy nothing had changed and that he doesn't think of Roy any differently, if he couldn't even stand to keep a pair of trousers that used to have an ash-stain on the knee. "Tired. Confused. In pain. He wanted to know how many people he killed."

Erwin's mouth tightens. "Did you tell him?"

Levi doesn't look up. The stain doesn't appear to be lightening in the slightest, and he can still see Erwin in his peripheral vision. Erwin's twirling the top on the table now, twisting the long, skinny shoulder between his fingers without ever releasing it. Levi wonders if that's a control thing. He scrubs a little harder. "I don't lie to him. He asked. I answered. He didn't take it especially well."

Erwin's silent, running his fingers over the top's gentle curves. Levi thinks it must have been painted once in bright cheery colors, but exposure to the elements has left it bleached and dull. All that's left to admire is the artistry and delicacy of the carving. Levi wonders exactly how the child who'd once owned it had died.

Finally, when the silence stretches too long, Levi says, "He's worried. He's already lost everything he knows once. He's afraid he's going to lose all this, too." Not that Roy had said so in so many words, but he hadn't needed to. _Just wait before you convict yourself,_ Levi had told Roy, but it had been too late. Roy's already waiting for the sentencing.

Erwin stares at Levi, mouth set in a hard, thin line. "He can't really believe that."

"I didn't say he believes it. He's afraid of it."

"He shouldn't be." Erwin hisses out a breath in exasperation and places the top carefully back on the table where he found it. "Roy is … he is orders of magnitude more powerful than anyone else here. If he wanted to rule this city — this _world_ — he could do it. With you by his side? Who could stop you, the two of you, together? Who would be reckless enough to even try?"

Levi scrubs so hard at the knee of his trousers that for a second he's afraid he's ripped a hole in them. "Pinzer tried."

Erwin picks up the rock from the table. The rock is the most mundane of the objects there, though Roy had seemed to think that it was interesting chemically based on the colorful streaks striated across its surface. To Levi, it just looks like a chunk of stone, but he hasn't had a lot of experience with rocks except for using them as weapons back when he was with Kenny.

"Pinzer was an arrogant, greedy fool," Erwin says. "He's also horribly dead, along with almost everyone he had working for him. The ones who are still alive can't confess fast enough, if it means we'll put them somewhere safe."

"Safe from Roy."

"Yes, safe from Roy. They're _terrified_. They think the 'Fire Demon' is going to hunt them down and burn them alive to take revenge."

Fire Demon. That's new. Levi doesn't want to think how Roy will react to _that. "_ He's going to fucking hate that."

The noise Erwin makes might have been a laugh if it had come from anyone other than Erwin. He is turning the rock around and around in his hand, running the tips of his fingers over all the uneven edges. "Too late to stop it now. It's already spreading. Moblit thinks it's funny." Erwin squeezes the rock so hard his knuckles turn white. "I can't order people not to be afraid of him. The alchemy is too powerful and too alien. Maybe not in Amestris, where they've got alchemists all over the place, but—"

"I think they're scared of him in Amestris too." Levi dips his trousers in the bucket, rinsing off the suds. The stain is still visible, though lighter. With a frustrated huff, he picks the scrub brush back up and starts working at the fabric again, rubbing more soap into the stubborn mark. It occurs to him that lye soap is made from ashes, so in effect, he's using ashes to remove ashes. Is that irony? Levi's never gotten a very good grip on the concept.

"Not in the same way, maybe," Levi continues. "But he's the only flame alchemist there. He said he intimidates people." Well, that's what Levi _thinks_ Roy said. It had been a hard concept for Roy to get across, and at the time, he'd been a little drunk. "Sometimes I think he wishes he'd never learned it." Levi is actually fairly certain that Roy wishes that all the time, that having learned flame alchemy is Roy's single greatest regret, barring, perhaps, whatever atrocities he'd been directly responsible for in Ishval, though of course it was only due to the flame alchemy that he'd been able to do those things. Levi supposes that trying to identify Roy's biggest regret is as fruitless at it would be for Levi to try to identify his own. The difference is, Levi doesn't live with regret. Erwin taught him that.

Erwin frowns. "Well, I can't say _I'm_ sorry he learned it. He's a tremendous asset. And for better or worse, I think after this, there won't be any more interference from Command. They'll let Roy stay wherever he wants." He puts the rock down and looks around the quarters. What the fuck is he even still doing here? Roy is out cold and unlikely to be waking up anytime soon. There's got to be somewhere else Erwin could be, doing something else besides touching all of Roy's things that for all Erwin knows could be _Levi's_ things.

Maybe Erwin is here because he's unsettled. Maybe he's still trying to come to grips with the things Roy did. Maybe he's trying to reconcile a distaste for what Roy's done with a pragmatic assessment of how Roy's capacity for violence might work out to Erwin's own advantage. Maybe he's struggling to accept the fact that nothing that's happened has changed his own feelings in any substantive way, that Roy remains the center of his focus and his world. Or maybe that's just Levi.

Erwin walks over and looks down at the trousers in Levi's hands. "I don't think that's coming out."

Levi scowls down at the fabric. That settles it. He's going to get the fucking stain out even if it kills him.

* * *

The next few days are horrible. Roy's sore and aching all over and his temper's frayed. He's guilt-ridden, anxious and irritable, and finds himself snapping at Levi even though he's fully aware Levi is in no way to blame for anything except one solitary bruise on Roy's head. Not that Roy remembers Levi punching him. His memories of his captivity and escape are still hazy, which Dr. Jansen attributes to the stress, head trauma and drugs. Jansen says at this point the memories are unlikely to ever fully return, which is fine with Roy. He doesn't particularly want to remember anything that happened that day, especially getting clocked in the head by Levi.

Levi is reasonably tolerant of Roy's foul mood but not prone to coddling and not especially conciliatory. When Roy gets particularly offensive, Levi gives back as good as he gets. They fight worse than they ever have, and Levi takes to leaving Roy alone to stew in his own bad temper for hours at a time.

The pattern is familiar to Roy. He's done it many times before. Riza tells him it's self-sabotage and Roy figures she's probably right. Unfortunately, recognizing his bad behavior has never been enough to get him to stop acting badly. This is usually around the time he starts drinking more than he should, but he's not drinking now: Jansen's got him on a cocktail of medications and has strictly forbidden any alcohol whatsoever. Enforced abstinence is not helping his mood any. Even Marcoh let him have a little bit of alcohol, Roy thinks sourly. But it's probably for the best; staying sober is probably the only thing preventing him from lashing out at Levi with every stupid, hurtful, resentful thought that crosses his mind.

So maybe Roy won't irretrievably ruin this relationship like he's ruined every other. Maybe Levi, tough and prickly and stubborn, won't let him. Some part of Roy, small and stubborn, hopes Levi won't.

"I'm sorry I'm such an asshole," he says to Levi a week after his rescue, dragging himself back into their quarters after an unpleasant session at the infirmary. Mike had accompanied him there and back but had left him at the door to the barracks, running late for equestrian training with some of the recruits. Roy scratches his shoulder with as much pressure as he can bear, fingernails scraping around the edges of the bandage. Jansen had callously been poking and prodding his stitches, and the wound feels itchy and hot.

Levi doesn't even look up from where he's dusting up the lint that's collected under the cushions of the sofa. "You're not an asshole."

"Mike says I am."

Levi does look up now, scowling. He's got a bandana on his head and an apron over his clothes and big rubber gloves. He looks adorable, though Roy values his body being in one piece and so he doesn't say anything. "Mike is an idiot."

"He's not wrong. I haven't been very nice lately."

Levi gives the couch a final wipe with a cloth, then starts placing the cushions back on. To Roy all the cushions look indistinguishable from each other, but Levi swears they have to go on in a particular order and had once chewed Roy out for five solid minutes after finding them placed incorrectly. Roy never moves the cushions anymore. "You've been under a lot of stress."

Roy heads for the armchair by the window but veers away to the table at the last second. Levi always cleans the couch first and the chair second; Roy's not going to sit on the couch if Levi just finished cleaning it, and the chair's off-limits until it's been dusted, so the wooden chairs by the table will have to do even though they are far less conducive to slumping and sulking. "That isn't a good reason."

Levi shrugs. He carefully takes the cushion off the armchair and starts cleaning. "You on your worst day aren't as bad as me on my best day."

Roy disagrees with a peevish grunt. Levi is consistently ill-tempered, but Roy's moods veer much more wildly and his highs and lows are epic. He taps his fingers on the table restlessly. "Everybody stared at me when we went to the infirmary."

Levi turns to look at him, still rubbing at the chair. "Well, you've hardly been out."

"That isn't why they stared." They had stared, Roy thinks, because everyone knows how many people he'd killed: Forty-one, when all the bodies had been counted and the last two people had died of their burns. People had stared at him like people had stared when he'd come back from Ishval. Bradley had called him a hero, given him a medal and a promotion, but people had still stared with their eyes wide and whispering behind their hands. Even people who'd been in Ishval. Maybe especially people who'd been in Ishval. "They're afraid of me."

Levi straightens, peeling the gloves from his hands, one after the other. He lays them neatly on the arm of the chair, then slips off the apron and the bandana. He doesn't lie and say people aren't afraid of Roy, for which Roy's mostly grateful. Levi pulls out the chair next to Roy and sits, reaching for Roy's hand. His fingers trace lightly over the fading transmutation lines, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make Roy acknowledge the sting of the touch.

"They _should_ be afraid of you." Levi's tone is matter of fact but not cruel. "You're fucking strong. They'd be stupid to cross you. They know that now."

Roy sighs. Levi presses harder on the still-healing cuts and it does hurt now, but it's also grounding, the pain keeping him from spiraling away. "I don't want them to be afraid of me."

Levi hums and moves his hand down to stroke gently over Roy's fingers, light and careful over the knuckles. The scars there are faded, hard to see but numerous, evidence of missteps when Roy had first been learning to control fire and other times he'd been too desperate for fine control. "If it helps," Levi says, "they're afraid of me too. They think I'm a psychopath. One bad mood away from slaughtering everyone here." His fingers are cool and steady where they ghost over Roy's, back and forth over Roy's fingertips.

"That's ridiculous."

Levi hums again, quiet and thoughtful. "Not really. I wasn't a good man before I joined the Corps. I'm not sure I'm a good man now. But I'm fighting for a good cause, and most days I think that's enough."

Unbidden, a chuckle makes its way up and out of Roy's throat. "That's almost exactly what I have been telling myself since I got home from the war. Do you think it's possible? _Sühne_?"

There's a split-second delay for translation before Levi says, "Atonement? I don't know. I'm don't think that's what I'm doing. What good would it do? The people I hurt wouldn't care even if they knew."

Roy still doesn't know who Levi hurt or what Levi even means by that. Levi rarely talks about his life before the Corps and what he does say is vague. Roy knows hardly anything more than what Moblit told him about Farlan and Isabel, and Erwin's potential involvement in their deaths, and how Levi had been some kind of criminal in the Underground.

"You'd care," Roy says. "That's what good it would do."

"I know you want to believe that," Levi says. "That I would care and that it would matter." _Because you'd care,_ he doesn't say. _But_ _I'm not like you_. He doesn't say that either. But he's thinking it. 

Levi gives himself so little credit, hardly any for his actions and none for his motivations. Roy can't really fathom it. Levi could be a god in the Underground if he wanted. But he stays here instead, with Erwin whom he can't stand, and Jaeger who infuriates him, and Hange who pesters him and Moblit who teases him, and why would he even bother unless deep down he thinks it will make a difference in this world? Maybe Levi doesn't call it atonement, but if he's doing good, do his motivations even matter?

 _Words matter,_ Aunt Chris used to say. _But actions matter more. Don't focus on what people tell you, Roy-boy. Focus on the things they do._

"What we do matters," Roy says into the silence. "I have to believe that. I have to … to _ausbalancieren_? To make things so the good and the bad are the same?"

"Balance," Levi says. "But you can't. The bad we do doesn't go away. Saving one person doesn't bring another person back to life."

If only it could, Roy thinks. "But you have still saved that person. It's better than just letting all the bad things be your … _vermächtnis_? What you leave behind you when you die."

"Legacy." Levi stays still and silent for another minute, lost in thought, then he rises gracefully to his feet and holds a hand out for Roy. "Come on. You haven't eaten in the mess hall in a week, and we're out of food."

They are not out of food, unless Levi spent the afternoon eating while Roy was getting poked and prodded at the infirmary. It's just barely possible; Levi eats like a horse: a very stubborn, excitable, yellow-haired teenage horse named Edward. Of course, it turns out Edward was supporting Al's body; Roy wonders if all that Ackerman energy is Levi's excuse, or if it's just all the energy he burns up being pissy and irritating Erwin. Either way, he eats more than anyone Roy's ever known except for Edward, and, like Edward, never gains an ounce, which does not frustrate Roy _at all_.

Levi waggles his hand at him when Roy doesn't stand up right away. "You can't hide out in here forever."

Roy knows that. He also doesn't think hiding out for one or two more days would be the most cowardly thing he's ever done, and he's not quite ready to confront a mass of uneasy faces.

"I'll hit anyone who stares," Levi says mildly. He reaches down to grip Roy's hand and pulls him to his feet. "You're going to have to go out eventually. And I heard from a reliable source that they'll have sausages."

Roy hesitates for a moment longer before caving. The sausages are the kicker. The food here is fine, but it's mostly all bread and vegetables, and Roy finds himself craving meat sometimes with an intensity that's vaguely alarming. If he ever gets back home, which he's stopped hoping for but occasionally dreams about still, the first thing he's going to do is get himself a huge steak, with a cutlet and meatballs on the side.

"Fine," Roy says grumpily. "But if there are no sausages, I'm leaving."

There are, in fact, sausages, and they get two good ones, big and thick and juicy. There are also fresh crusty baked potatoes dripping with butter, and Roy finds that it's good to be out from Levi's quarters somewhere that is not the infirmary. There are a lot of people in the mess hall, and some of them do stare, but most of them don't, and those that do stare quickly stop once Levi catches them at it and glares at them. Moblit and Hange wander over after a little while, and Moblit sits on Roy's right side, while Levi's on his left already, and Hange sits across from him, so he is surrounded and protected and feels safe.

No one mentions Pinzer or alchemy or the 'Fire Demon,' but Roy still feels the weight of the words nobody's saying in every awkward pause in the conversation. Moblit and Hange keep the chatter going though, all mindless and soothing nonsense, and Roy remembers Maes and Riza doing the same for him after they returned from Ishval and can't quite breathe around the swell of affection in his chest.

It's not easy but it gets easier as minutes pass. Roy even manages a laugh when Moblit starts raving about Hannah, the latest object of his unrequited affections, and how he'd tried to give her flowers but accidentally sat on the bouquet and ended up with rose thorns in his ass.

"It's not funny," Moblit says indignantly, rubbing his butt. "It _hurt_. I still can't sit normally."

In fact, he's sitting with one leg tucked under the other, keeping his right ass cheek hoisted off the bench, and Roy can't help but laugh again. Hange is snorting and even Levi cracks a grin, a slight upturn to one corner of his mouth.

Moblit glares at them sullenly. "I hate you all."

"You love us," Hange says sweetly, dropping half a buttered potato on Moblit's plate as a peace offering.

Moblit grunts and pokes at the potato with his fork. It's been sitting on Hange's plate for a while and the butter has gotten cold and congealed. Normally this wouldn't stop Moblit. Moblit reminds Roy a lot of Riza's dog, who eats everything, although Black Hayate might have a slightly more discerning palate. But Moblit plays with the potato for a moment, indecisive and hesitant, then glances at Roy, his brow furrowed, a flash of something strange and calculating and utterly foreign in his expression. "Roy," he says carefully, "could you …" He pokes at the potato again, then snaps his other hand at it. "… just a little bit?"

Roy freezes, and his heart, stupidly, starts pounding in his chest. Hange, sitting across the table, manages to stare at Roy in a way that is both intent and yet not intense, just waiting to see what he will do.

Levi is still and silent, but Levi is often still and silent, and his quiet presence at Roy's side is familiar and comforting. Levi takes a sip of tea. The brush of his arm against Roy's as he puts his cup back on the table is too deliberate to be an accident. _You don't have to do anything you don't want to_ , is what that touch says. _I'll be here for you either way._

Roy is already hopelessly in love with Levi, but he loves him a little more in this instant.

Meanwhile, Moblit's cold potato still waits. All it would take is a simple snap, the briefest burst of flame, and the potato would be steaming, butter melting warm and fragrant into all the valleys forked into the flesh. Just one little snap, Roy thinks. It's nothing Roy hasn't done before. Moblit seems to take great pleasure in asking Roy to use his alchemy for the stupidest, most mundane activities ever. Roy usually obliges because Moblit was the first friend Roy made here after Levi, and Moblit has seen Roy through many bad days since. And one small little burst of flame is hardly anything to ask against all that Moblit has done for Roy.

Roy is still immobilized. He's being stupid. All it would take is pulling his gloves out of his pocket. He'd hardly even have to wear them. It would only be for an instant, long enough for one snap. One little burst of alchemy. That's all it would take. Roy just needs to get over his strange paralysis. Once his gloves are out of his pocket, pulling them on and performing the transmutation wouldn't take any effort at all. It'd be over before he could even think about it, really. He just needs to pull his gloves out, and … and he is prepared to do it, obviously, or he wouldn't have brought his gloves with him. They're not … they're not some kind of strange crutch, not like a flask or a security blanket, that he carries around but won't use. He brings his gloves with him everywhere because he's _always_ prepared to use them, so it's stupid to leave them sitting in his pocket when he could just … when all he has to do is …

Moblit is still waiting. Any longer and it will be weird. It's probably already weird. But Moblit is being quietly patient, Hange's gaze is steady, and Levi shifts a little closer to Roy's side. They are all just waiting, not pushing. Roy knows that if he refuses, Moblit will shrug and eat his cold, congealed potato, hardly any less happy with it, and Hange will launch into another story, and Levi will remain staunch and stolid at Roy's side.

None of them will care if he can't or won't transmute right now. They won't run to Erwin and tell him that Roy's broken. They won't speculate that he's scared, won't mutter that the last time he used his alchemy in the city he killed 37 people — no, 41 when all was said and done.

Moblit's fork is dipping down to the potato, and that's it, Roy's missed his chance, but so what? It doesn't mean anything; just because he doesn't want to use his alchemy now, just because he doesn't trust himself to do it safely, doesn't mean that _they_ can't trust him; it doesn't mean that if push comes to shove, he can't … he won't …

Roy swallows hard and wrenches his gloves out so violently he thinks he might have ripped the lining of his pocket. "A moment," he says, choking on the words. He pulls the right glove on, ignoring the sting of the rough fabric over his still-bruised knuckles, and snaps before he can think better of it. It's over almost as soon as it starts, a burst of energy and a tiny flare of flame that gusts over the potato and turns the butter to soft liquid gold.

And that's it. Nothing bad happens. Nobody screams, nobody dies. All that happens is that the butter melts all over Moblit's now steaming potato.

Roy lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. When he catches himself doing it, he snaps his jaws together, so only a little wheeze escapes, which Levi and Hange and Moblit promptly ignore. Moblit's smile is far too wide for such a small favor, but all he says is, "That will never not be awesome. Thanks, Roy." Then Moblit digs his fork into the potato happily, like all is well with the world and Roy hasn't nearly had a panic attack.

"You _verwent_ him," Hange says to Roy mildly, also as if nothing unusual has just happened.

Roy frowns. "What is … oh. _Werwöhnst_. Heating up a cold potato is not spoiling him." Actually, Roy has to concede that he is, maybe, spoiling Moblit a little bit, but only a little, and Moblit deserves it for putting up with Roy, and Levi too. Maybe even more for putting up with Levi, who has fewer bad days than Roy but who treats Moblit far worse than Roy even on Roy's worst days.

Hange hums in polite disagreement and takes a sip of ale, leaning back to watch Moblit devour the rest of his food as if the whole meal is an excuse for some scientific observation.

Levi bumps his leg into Roy's, gently enough so that Roy doesn't startle at the unexpected touch, a level of care that's ordinarily not necessary, but Roy's not reacting normally lately. "You okay?"

Roy nods, eyes down, and strips his glove off with a slow and deliberate motion, folding it carefully with the second glove and placing them both back in his pocket, irritated with how much calmer he feels once the gloves are out of his sight.

Levi looks at Roy sideways, assessing. "You sure? You're a little pale."

"I'm fine," Roy says. The only thing left on his own tray is a lone piece of boiled carrot. Roy doesn't particularly care for boiled carrots but he pops this one into his mouth anyway to avoid having to say anything else.

"You're a shitty liar," Levi says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. Roy scowls at him. He is an _excellent_ liar. Just not, maybe, when he's lying to Levi. White lies only.

"I'll be fine," Roy says. This is apparently close enough to the truth that Levi is willing to let it go.

Moblit glances up from scraping the last bits of potato out of the shell. "That reminds me," he says. "Are your stitches out yet?"

"Next week, I hope," Roy says. He shrugs, tentatively, and his shoulder hardly twinges. "Why?"

Moblit spins his fork idly on its edge. "Erwin's planning an expedition in two weeks."

Roy turns to Levi, frowning. He'd heard nothing about a new expedition. "Did you know about this?"

Levi shrugs. "Yeah."

Roy feels a flash of annoyance. He doesn't need to be coddled. He's … well, fine, he doesn't have all his shit together at the moment, but that doesn't mean he wants to be kept in the dark.

"Wasn't sure you'd be ready in time to come with us," Levi continues, unperturbed.

Roy's instinctive reaction is to be offended. But then he realizes that a few minutes ago he could hardly bring himself to melt non-threatening butter on a non-threatening potato, so Levi's concern is not necessarily misplaced.

Levi frowns at him, as if sensing the way his thoughts are moving. "Physically," Levi says. "Even with the stitches out, your shoulder may not be up to the strain, and I know your ribs still hurt."

Roy's ribs hurt quite a lot, actually, because Strucker and Himmel found it amusing to take turns punching Roy there, one from either side. But they were careful not to break any bones, and Roy is not going to let a little thing like bruised ribs and a sore shoulder stop him. His anxiety about using alchemy, on the other hand, is considerably more problematic.

Of course, if the alternative is letting Levi go fight Titans without Roy, Roy is going to get his shit together fast. Never mind that Levi has been fighting Titans since Roy was a kid at the Academy; never mind that Levi's title of Humanity's Strongest Soldier is not at all an exaggeration; never mind that Levi was fighting Titans for years before Roy stumbled along; never mind that Levi would probably be pissed as hell if Roy tried to protect him. Never mind all of that. There is no way Roy is letting Levi go off and fight Titans without Roy at his side.

"I'll be ready," Roy says, and if that means practicing his alchemy every day until he can do it again without shaking, then he'll do it. He's done it before, after Ishval, when the sight of his gloves was enough to make him sick to his stomach. But he hadn't had so much to fight for, then. Now he does. Now he will.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy is coping. Kind of. So far. But fair warning, as in real life, things are going to get worse before they get better. :) (This is me teasing you.)
> 
> Art: I blame the artwork for this chapter being posted Sunday afternoon instead of Sunday morning. I was done last night, and then I did a last proofread of the chapter and realized that the boys weren't in the right order. So then I had to shift them and that was time consuming. Ah well. Should probably just have left it alone but it's too late now. Also, I made this art almost entirely for SapphireMusings because she's a Moblit fan (at least this story's version of Moblit).
> 
> Comments = love! If you have a moment, please drop a line. Hearing from you is incredibly motivational.


	18. One step forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite an interlude. Please take heed of the chapter title.
> 
> Moblit:  
> "We all want that. I mean, the whole fucking world wants that, and most people never get it. Just … don't be an asshole and waste it or fuck it up or something."
> 
> Roy:  
> Stitches in dark black thread paint a jagged line across the stab wound. It's going to be an ugly scar. Roy will hate it in a few years, when with a little distance he'll be able to afford being vain again, but right now, he's glad of it. It feels appropriate, like penance. 
> 
> Levi:  
> Levi thinks before he answers. He has to do that a lot more often of late. Roy has always been quick-witted and astute; now during the bad hours he is also combative and acerbic, and he will find every hidden nuance in Levi's words and turn them into a knife to slide effortlessly between his own ribs.

"What do you think?" Moblit asks.

Levi grunts noncommittally. Moblit seems far more invested in Levi's approval of these quarters than he ought to be. Levi is somewhat suspicious of Moblit's motivations. "They're nice."

"Nice." Moblit stares at him as if he has gone completely insane. "They're twice as big as the quarters you have now."

"They are not twice as big." They are at most one-and-a-half times as large as Levi's current quarters, although that extra half is actually quite significant. Each room is larger, and there is an extra window in the living room and a crucial extra closet in the hall. The kitchen has extra cabinets, a full-size pantry and maybe half a meter of extra counter space, while still having room for Levi's small dinette. Even the bathroom is bigger, with room for two people to stand next to each other at the sink if they have a flexible concept of personal space.

"You could put a dining table here," Moblit says eagerly, patting around the air in the corner of the living room. His hands outline the shape of an enormous table. "Big enough for four chairs."

Levi concedes the point in his head, if not out loud. "Why would we need four chairs?"

"To have friends over, you dope. Like me and Hannah, for instance."

Levi rolls his eyes. "For fuck's sake, give it up already. She's never going to date you."

"I'm making headway!" Moblit is cheerful. "She hasn't given me a dirty look in a week."

Levi doesn't dignify this with a response. He leaves the living area and checks out the bedroom again, more carefully this time. Standard Corps-issued wooden furniture lines the candle-wax-colored walls, hiding some of the worst stains. The room holds a battered dresser that looks remarkably like the one Levi currently uses, low and wide with six drawers; mismatched nightstands on either side of the bed, cheap dull-brown finish peeling off in spots; and a large wardrobe that seems to be listing a little to one side, the doors unevenly aligned and loose on their hinges. Levi would have to fix them if he and Roy moved in here.

His stomach twists with stupid relationship anxiety and he turns away to look out the window. The view is nothing special, but then again, nobody's quarters have a particularly interesting view, not even Erwin's. These, at least, do not look out over the dung pits, but just a generic section of the base, a big patch of dirt cross-crossed with well-trod footpaths.

"Nice bed," Moblit says, leaning against the doorframe and raising his eyebrows in a manner that Levi supposes is meant to be suggestive but just makes him look kind of dumb. "A double. Isn't that enough reason to move?"

A double bed actually is probably enough reason to move. Levi regards it. He and Roy have been making do with a standard officer's single, which is just barely wide enough for them to sleep side by side, though that is still significantly better than the skinny cot in Roy's assigned quarters. This bed is a good 15 cm wider than Levi's. Levi has never slept in a bed this large in his life. For most of his childhood he didn't have a bed at all, just a mat in his mother's tiny room in the brothel and a moth-eaten roll-up futon when he was in Kenny's dubious care. He'd kept the futon for a while after Kenny had abandoned him, until he'd lost it in some fight or another and then he'd slept on a pile of rags and old boxes in the street. Later, when he'd gotten financially secure enough to rent his own rooms, he'd had a tiny cot that had felt like the height of luxury. Even when he was older, he'd never bought a bigger bed. Not even when he was living with Farlan and Isabel. He wonders why he hadn't, now.

He'll need new sheets if they take these quarters. Expensive ones, probably, because Roy's a hedonist and he is forever complaining about Levi's cheap scratchy linens.

He can afford new sheets. The cost is not the problem. The implied commitment is.

Levi sighs and turns from the window to find Moblit watching him with alarming focus. Levi doesn't flinch, at least not on the outside. "What?"

"Have you asked him yet?"

Levi crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. He has no reason to be defensive about this and so he will not be defensive. "No."

Moblit's face twitches and he throws himself onto the bed in a fit of pique. A small cloud of dust flies up in the air that makes Levi back away in reflexive alarm. Moblit is unbothered by the dust. He just waves his hand in front of his face until the air is clear. "For fuck's sake."

"He hasn't even gotten his stitches out." Not defensive. That's a perfectly reasonable explanation, Levi thinks.

Moblit seems unconvinced by this infallible logic. He blinks at Levi from his position on the mattress. Some of the disturbed dust has settled back down in a fine layer on his jacket. Moblit doesn't seem to have noticed, or if he has noticed, he doesn't care. Levi, meanwhile, is clenching his hands into fists to keep from wiping the dust off. How can Moblit just lie there in the dust like that? Doesn't he know what dust actually _is_? Tiny bits of hair and skin and fuck-knows-what from outside, and Moblit is just _lying_ in it.

"What," Moblit says, his voice almost gentle, "do his stitches have to do with anything?"

He looks like he really wants to know.

So does Levi.

"It's just," Levi says. He breathes, not too deeply, because all the dust Moblit stirred up is still in here and it's probably making its way over to Levi right now. Levi opens the window as a preventative measure. The wooden frame creaks in protest but gives under steady pressure. "I don't know. He's still pretty fucked up about what happened. It doesn't seem like the right time."

Moblit opens his mouth to answer but then sneezes instead. He is evidently surprised by it even though Levi could have predicted a sneeze was forthcoming, given all the ambient dust. The air is sparkling with it. Moblit wipes his nose on his sleeve then wipes his sleeve on the front of his jacket. Levi clenches his jaw in disgust but doesn't say anything.

"There will never be a right time," Moblit says, the sneeze apparently a singular event. He looks placid and comfortable lying on the bed that might soon be Levi's and Roy's. After all the dust is thoroughly cleansed, of course. "And it might be a good distraction." A thoughtful expression that has absolutely no business being there crosses Moblit's face. "Unless you're afraid he'll say no."

Levi's answering curse is automatic and without bite. "I'm not afraid he'll say no," he says, which is mostly honest. True, there is a tiny part of his brain that is anxious and hesitant and afraid to rock the boat. They practically live together already; Levi has caught Roy on multiple occasions referring to Levi's rooms as "our quarters," and Levi has done the same himself. But still. No. He isn't afraid Roy will say no. Roy hasn't been back to his own quarters once since his rescue, not even during the worst of their fights.

No, Levi is not afraid Roy will say no. The problem is that if Levi asks Roy to move into these new quarters with him, Roy will almost certainly say yes, and then Levi and Roy will be a thing. An actual official thing, which feels substantively different than the unofficial thing they are now. They will have their names on paperwork together. Roy will not keep some of his clothing in Levi's closet; Roy and Levi will keep _their_ clothing in _their_ closet. Presumably, Roy will not be content with just one and a half drawers in Levi's dresser. Roy will probably expect half the dresser. Roy should probably get more than half the dresser, really, because he has many more articles of clothing than Levi, including at least a dozen pairs of socks, which feels redundant and profligate. Levi does his laundry once a week; he believes every responsible adult should do the same. Why would anyone doing laundry once a week need more than seven pairs of socks?

"Roy has twelve pairs of socks," Levi says into the dusty air. "At least. He may have more." Levi actually thinks Roy has several additional pairs on secret reserve in his own ill-frequented quarters. Levi has in his occasional idle moments come up with three theories about this insane number of socks: First, Roy keeps socks in his own quarters so that on the increasingly rare occasions he spends the night there, he knows he will have clean socks in the morning. This seems sensible. Both Roy and Levi agree on the need to change one's socks every single day. Second, Roy is reluctant to ask Levi for more storage space in Levi's quarters so he has made a strategic decision to keep his excess hosiery elsewhere. Three, Levi's obsession with Roy's socks has not gone unnoticed, and Roy is hiding the extra socks because he is embarrassed about owning them but is nonetheless unwilling to give them up.

Moblit has propped himself up on his elbows now, and the expression on his face indicates that he may believe Levi is being stupid. "That's why you haven't asked him to share quarters? Because he has a lot of socks?" He furrows his brow. "Is there something wrong with having socks? Maybe in Amestris they change their socks every day or something."

Levi spasms, though he covers it with a small cough. "No," he says. "There's nothing wrong with having socks."

"Then why haven't you asked him yet?"

"I just haven't." Levi crosses the room to the closet and wrenches the door open, a little of his frustration dissipated by the action. The single door hides a double-width closet, which isn't entirely convenient but is still better than a single door hiding a single-width closet. The far section of the closet would be fine for hanging Roy's Amestrian uniform, which Roy won't get rid of but the sight of which depresses him. They can shove it in the back, in the dark, where Roy can take comfort in its invisible presence without being confronted by it every time he wants to dress up for dinner — which is far more often than Levi would on his own, but Roy in those gray trousers and vest is actually fucking criminal, and to be privileged with that sight Levi will do pretty much anything Roy asks.

Moblit is suddenly at his shoulder peering with interest into the closet, though that interest lasts only so long as it takes him to realize there is nothing interesting to see within. Moblit turns back to the room and starts to pull open the drawers of the dresser one after the other. They are all as empty as the closet. Also, the lower left-hand drawer gets stuck and Moblit has to tug at it. "If you ever _do_ get off your ass," he says, grunting with effort — to what end, Levi cannot guess, since the drawer will almost certainly be as empty as the others, or else contain something as dull as an abandoned pair of trousers from the previous occupant, "these quarters will be perfect. Or at least as perfect as you'll get on base."

Levi hums in acknowledgment. Except for the dust, which can be cleaned with an assiduous application of soap and water, the quarters are eminently suitable for a couple. The furniture repair will take Levi only a little time, and now that he thinks about it, Roy might be able to do the repairs with alchemy. Levi has seen Roy do something of the sort on the chair in his quarters, which cracked one day when the both of them were sitting in it and their activities got a little too vigorous.

The drawer finally opens but yields only more dust. Moblit nonetheless appears satisfied to have gotten it open at all. "Soap that up, it should work just fine," he pronounces as if it is great wisdom, and slides the drawer back into place, making sure it is seated properly in the grooved track. He stands up straight and dusts his hands off on his trousers. This is an entirely pointless action in Levi's opinion. The trousers are hopelessly dusty from the bed so all Moblit is doing is transferring dust around.

Moblit jams his marginally less-dusty hands in his pockets and looks at Levi, head cocked. "You know most of us here would kill for what you have." This he says lightly, as if he's commenting on the weather or the quality of the offerings for lunch in the mess hall. "And it's not that Roy is smart and sexy. It's not even that he's so fucking powerful. I mean"—Moblit shrugs carelessly—"those things aren't bad, obviously. But that's not why we're jealous." He pauses, seems to think about what he's just said, and amends, "That's not the only reason we're jealous. Not even the main one."

Levi crosses the room to shut the window, taking one last breath of fresh air before he does. "Oh?" He tries to sound as uninterested as he would like to be but isn't sure how successful he is.

"It's just," Moblit says. "It's not just that it's Roy. Obviously, he's a catch, but"—he shrugs again—"he's got his own shit to deal with, tons of it, so that's got to be hard. And you're fucking hard as hell, so nobody exactly envies him having to put up with you. But the two of you together are like a … a single unit or something. Not like puzzle pieces or two halves of a whole or whatever stupid romantic shit you hear in poems."

Levi has never heard a poem in his life that he can recall, except for some filthy limericks Kenny used to sing, badly, when he was drunk. Levi suspects those are not what Moblit is talking about.

"It's not like you fit," Moblit continues doggedly. "Or that you complement each other. It's just that you're _right_ together. When you're with him, it's like the universe is saying, 'This is what it's all for. This is what everything's about.' " He sighs. "We all want that. I mean, the whole fucking world wants that, and most people never get it. Just … don't be an asshole and waste it or fuck it up or something."

Levi feels strangely chastened and a little embarrassed that Moblit, of all people, is giving him sage, serious advice. "I don't want to fuck it up," he says, staring at a worn patch in the carpet. Now that he's noticed it, it will bother him forever if he and Roy move in. He will have to get an area rug to cover it.

How neurotic, he thinks a moment later. It's a small worn patch in the carpet. Roy will probably never notice and he certainly wouldn't care if he did. Nobody else in the Corps would notice or care. Only Levi, with his weird little habits and obsessions that are bound to irritate Roy eventually. True, Roy hasn't seemed particularly bothered yet, but certainly that forbearance can't last forever. He has been here hardly more than a single year; he is still so dependent on Levi. But he's far less so than he was at the beginning, and that dependence grows less with every passing month; he understands more and speaks better; he learns more of their history and their customs; his network of friends expands.

How long will Roy need Levi, really? And once he no longer needs him, how long will he be willing to put up with him?

Moblit is suddenly right in Levi's space looming over him. Levi blinks and takes a step back. "What?" Levi asks belligerently, because anger is a far more comfortable emotion than self-doubt.

"You should just ask him," Moblit says. "Don't turn it into a bigger thing that it is. You practically live together already. And he could use something nice to happen right now, you know? Things have been pretty shitty lately."

Levi grunts in acknowledgement of the shittiness of things lately, then pushes past Moblit. He has things he needs to do, and he wants to be home by mid-afternoon. Roy has another visit to the infirmary today. Mike and Lotte are taking him, and then they are taking him to lunch. Levi would like to return to his quarters before Mike and Lotte bring Roy back. Roy is hoping Jansen will clear him for light duty soon. He's going a little stir crazy stuck in quarters all day. But whether he gets light duty or not, Levi wants to be there to hear about it.

"I mean it," Moblit calls after him. "Just ask him. I could do it for you, if you like."

"I'll make sure they never find your body," Levi says blandly. He doesn't wait to make sure Moblit is following him when he leaves.

* * *

The infirmary examination room is small and dingy. Not dirty, just dull. It needs a new coat of paint and some more lamps. There's an old cabinet in a corner with three drawers, the bottom of which is half open and askew. Every time Roy comes in, he has to stop himself from pulling the drawer out and adjusting it so that it sits properly in its track. Sometimes he thinks Jansen leaves it that way on purpose, as some sort of psychological assessment. The Corps doesn't seem to have shrinks, so Jansen plays that part too. Roy watches every word he says in here, accordingly.

Dr. Jansen is peering at Roy's unbandaged shoulder clinically. Stitches in dark black thread paint a jagged line across the stab wound. It's going to be an ugly scar. Roy will hate it in a few years, when with a little distance he'll be able to afford being vain again, but right now, he's glad of it. It feels appropriate, like penance.

Jansen is wearing a small pair of wire-framed spectacles and they have slipped down to the end of his large, bulbous nose. The glasses are incongruously dainty for such a large man. "How's the pain?" 

Roy resists the temptation to shrug, because his body has finally worked out that shrugging is intensely uncomfortable. "Manageable."

Jansen makes a face and straightens up, pulling the glasses off and letting them dangle around his neck, secured with one of those chains that Roy has always associated with old women, though with his new perspective as a visually impaired individual, Roy sees such accommodations as quite practical. When Roy is using the ODM gear, his glasses are secured to his head with a sturdy elastic band, but if he wants to take them off his only option is to remove them entirely, and then he either has to hold them or stuff them into a pocket; the former is inconvenient and the latter makes him fearful he will scratch a lens.

"Captain Levi tells me you're not taking all of your medicine."

"I'm taking the sulfa," Roy says. He sounds more belligerent than he intends and tries to soften his tone. "Twice a day with no food in my stomach."

"You should take the laudanum." Meanly, Jansen pokes at Roy's shoulder.

 _Ow._ Roy gasps despite his best intentions and flinches back, swearing. It's in Amestrian, so Jansen will never know exactly how offensive Roy's just been. Rather than risk speaking immediately and having his voice betray him, Roy stares up at the ceiling of the small examination room and counts all the cracks. He gets up to 18 before his eyes stop watering and he can trust his voice. "I don't like laudanum."

"Hmm." Jansen's gaze is keen, assessing. "Or you like it a little too much?"

"No." Roy's shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch, the initial sharp flare of pain replaced by throbbing agony. _Ow ow ow,_ he thinks, piteously, and swallows hard to force down the pathetic mewling noise that wants to escape. He resorts to counting cracks again. He finds 26 altogether in the ceiling, but the whimper is still lurking in his throat so he moves on to the walls. With roughly four times as much surface area, he can expect to find 104 cracks, although he can't easily see the wall behind him and portions of the others are blocked by the file cabinet with the skewed drawer, the desk, and a locked medication cabinet. Less than 78, then. He does a quick calculation in his head of how what percentage of the three visible walls isn't blocked, concludes that it's about 20%, so he should expect to find about 62 cracks.

Of course, Roy could repair the walls completely with a few claps, but then what would he do to distract himself?

"You were a soldier," Jansen says, voice mild and matter-of-fact. He gestures down at Roy's torso, which is littered with scars. Roy's eyes follow the movement of Jansen's hands. He does have a lot of scars. If he fixes the walls, perhaps that's how he could entertain himself next time he's here: counting his own scars.

That's the sort of thing, Roy reflects, that he can never say out loud to Jansen.

Jansen continues, "There are a lot of soldiers who like laudanum a little too much."

"I'm not one of them. I just don't like it." Roy's lying, of course. He likes laudanum just fine. Aunt Chris always kept a small bottle behind the bar, and sometimes during Roy's difficult, stupid teenage years he'd sneak some behind her back. He'd mix three carefully measured drops into a shot of whiskey or rum or scotch. He'd loved it. It made him feel _amazing._

But laudanum is what they'd used on Kimblee. Roy's lost the taste for it since then.

Jansen grunts with disapproval. "You'll heal slower if you don't sleep. The feverfew can only do so much." He pokes Roy in the ribs, and Roy curses again, this time in a language Jansen can understand.

"I'd sleep fine if you'd let me have a drink before bed," Roy grits out through tightly clenched teeth. Roy has come to understand why Levi dislikes Jansen so intensely. He's a sadistic prick.

"You won't take laudanum, but you'll drink until you pass out," Jansen says, scowling. "You know alcohol is just as addictive as an opiate, and it's much worse for your liver."

"I was joking," Roy says sullenly. This is only sort of true.

Jansen runs his tongue over his teeth and tsks, managing to sound both skeptical and reproving. "Well," he says, putting his glasses back on and making some notations on a sheet of paper, "you're healing quite nicely. Come back in four days and I'll take the stitches out. Any other complaints? Head giving you any trouble?"

 _Not the kind you can heal_ , Roy thinks. He shakes his head slightly. "Not really. I get dizzy if I stand too quickly but"— He shrugs so minutely that his shoulder barely twinges —"that's not unusual for me."

Jansen's mouth twists. He turns to the cabinet and takes out a small bottle filled with a clear liquid. "This will help with the dizziness." Before Roy can protest, he adds, "It isn't an opiate and it isn't addictive. Two drops in a full glass of water, three times a day," he says. "And no ODM gear until the dizziness _afneemt_." He waits for Roy to acknowledge him, and when Roy doesn't, he says impatiently, "when the dizziness gets less. Goes away, I should say. Trust Levi to hit you in the head. You are," he says over the top of his glasses, "the one person he should most _not_ be hitting in the head." He pauses. "And not because he's sleeping with you."

"He said he was sorry," Roy lies. Roy only knows that Levi knocked him out because Moblit told him what happened. Levi hasn't mentioned it and Roy has no intention of doing so either. Roy doesn't think Levi needs to apologize anyway. Roy's own memories of the events of the day are still fairly blurry but highly unpleasant; he hasn't been straining to remember the details any more clearly. But Roy knows that Levi would never have hit Roy if there'd been any other choice, and Jansen already dislikes Levi enough without having another reason to hold a grudge.

Jansen looks somewhat mollified, which makes the lie a successful one, the best kind of lie: small, innocuous, effective and unlikely ever to be found out. Jansen turns to the large supply closet and pulls out a roll of bandages, adhesive strips, some antiseptic cream, and a small pair of scissors. "Were you this much trouble back where you're from?"

Roy sighs and tries not to wince as Jansen none-too-gently sets about putting a clean bandage on the stab wound. "I wish I could say no, but that wouldn't be honest to you."

Jansen makes a small noise that might actually be a huff of laughter, which would be a first, if true. He finishes up the bandaging, slathers some cream on the scabby array scratched into Roy's hand, and folds his arms. He is really quite an enormous man. Not another Armstrong, but at least a standard deviation beyond the statistical norm. Roy wonders what made him become a doctor rather than choose a profession that would allow him to put his great size to some practical use. Roy will probably never know because he is never going to ask, because he doesn't really care.

"Four days," Jansen says. "And no ODM gear."

Roy nods but resists the impulse to say 'yes, sir.' He puts his shirt on, maneuvering somewhat gingerly into the sleeves, and buttons up then pulls on his uniform jacket. Outside, Mike and Lotte are waiting for him. Babysitters, Roy thinks bitterly, then promptly gets annoyed at himself for thinking it. He's fortunate that Mike and Lotte are here for him instead of a contingent of military police. Mike and Lotte are here because Roy is healing but he is not yet healed; Levi is working and Hange and Moblit are busy with Eren, who's having some sort of existential Titan-crisis, and of course Armin is with Eren too, not that Roy would want Armin here anyway. Erwin didn't say Roy needs an escort everywhere he goes, so Mike and Lotte are probably just here as friends, and that shouldn't make Roy feel resentful. The fact that it does is his own bullshit acting up.

"We heard you curse," Mike announces when Roy walks out the door. "Did he poke you?"

Roy hums his agreement.

"Asshole," Lotte says, looking darkly at Jansen's retreating back.

Roy doesn't bother to disagree, and follows Mike and Lotte out of the waiting room and into the infirmary's large entrance hall, which is packed with soldiers in various stages of health and wellness, along with several groups of civilian friends and relatives. Roy wonders for a moment if any of the people he'd burned are here; the Corps infirmary is better equipped to handle severe injuries than most surgeries in the rest of the city. He wonders if Jansen had treated any of them, if that's why Jansen had been so cavalier about poking his finger into Roy's shoulder. Then he thinks he'd rather not know.

"Lunch?" Mike asks. Roy is not actually hungry, but Mike is looking at him expectantly and Lotte is too, and both of them took time out of their day to be here for him. Roy nods and follows them out of the building and over to the mess hall, trying to ignore all the different ways in which people are looking at him as they pass by.

Mike, for his part, seems determinedly to be pretending everything is absolutely normal. His conversational topics touch on everything except anything to do with Roy's abduction and subsequent murder spree, and Lotte seems to be following Mike's lead, chatting blithely about some new songs she has recently gotten the music for and is looking forward to practicing. "You _can_ still play," she asks, flashing him a concerned glance, "right?"

Roy lifts his arms up to a playing position. His shoulder twinges but not too badly, and it doesn't feel appreciably worse when he moves his arms from side to side, fingering an imaginary keyboard. "I think it will be fine," he says. "Though I don't know how late I can be awake at night. I'm still sleeping more hours than usual." He frowns. "I feel I'm always sleepy. I'm always … what is _gähne_?" He yawns, exaggeratedly.

" _Geeuwen_ ," Mike says easily.

"I'm always yawning," Roy says. "If we play and I start yawning, it doesn't mean I'm …" A disgusted sound escapes him. "What is _gelangweilt_? When what you are doing isn't interesting and makes you sleepy?"

Lotte answers this time, grinning. " _Verveel_."

"Bored," Roy repeats with a frown. "I've been here long enough to learn all your words. I shouldn't so often, _ahm_ , fall over ones I don't know."

"I think you know more words than I do," Lotte says. She lets Mike hold open the door to the mess hall, then leads Roy inside, keeping the conversation flowing even when the noise volume dims appreciably when Roy's presence becomes known.

Mike carries the other end of the conversation, and it's only because Roy knows him so well that Roy can see the tension in his jaw. Roy's not entirely sure what it means, if Mike is tense because he's with Roy, whom everyone now knows is a mass murderer, or if Mike is annoyed on Roy's behalf, irritated at the whispers and the fearful looks and the faint mutterings of 'Fire Demon.'

"Don't let them bother you," Lotte says when they have retrieved trays of food and are sitting in a secluded corner, mercifully removed from prying eyes. "It hasn't even been two weeks. They'll get over it soon enough. Didn't Levi ever tell you what it was like when he first joined the Scouts?"

Roy pauses with his fork in mid-air, a chunk of overcooked potato shedding drops of deep brown gravy into his bowl. "No. He tells me very little of his past. I only know he didn't get along very well with Erwin."

Lotte and Mike exchange conspiratorial glances, then lean in closer across the battered wooden table, as if imparting a great and terrible secret. "You mean you've never heard the story about the time Levi _versnipperde_ those Titans?"

Roy stares at them around an overcooked piece of potato. " _Versnipperde_ is not a real word," he says mutinously. "You're making fun over me."

Lotte laughs, and it sounds far more genuine than any laughter earlier in the day. "No! It's … to rip something into pieces," she says. "Long pieces." She lifts up a napkin and demonstrates.

 _Geschreddert_ , Roy thinks. Shredded Titans are quite an image in his head. "No," he says. "I've never heard the story." He eats his soggy potato and then goes for something that may be yam. He's hungrier than he realized, and the warm food is soothing in a way stale bread and dried fruit isn't. "What happened?"

"Oh my god," Lotte says, eyes sparkling. "I can't believe we get to be the ones to tell you."

"Levi was difficult," Mike says.

"Very difficult," Lotte adds.

"He didn't trust anyone, and he kind of seemed to hate everyone, and we all thought he was going to kill Erwin one day—"

Roy interrupts Mike by waving his fork at him. "Moblit told me about that."

"Right. That was—"

"—They were taking bets," Lotte says. She glances at Mike. "I wasn't here, but that's what I heard."

Mike nods. "We were. Whether Levi would kill Erwin or the other way around." He grins. "I bet on Levi. He was little but nasty."

"He is still little and nasty," Roy says. He dabs up some of the gravy-of-indeterminate-origin with a piece of bread.

"He was nastier then," Mike says. "After his friends were killed, he just …" He frowns. "Well, anyway, he came on every expedition, but he'd never follow orders, not even direct ones. It made Erwin crazy. But Levi would ride off and kill some Titans and—"

"No one ever saw him," Lotte interrupts. "That was the thing. No one ever saw him kill the Titans, and he'd come back and say he killed five or six or ten but no one saw him do it."

"It's not like we thought he was lying," Mike says. "But …"

"You thought he was _übertreibt_? _Ahm_ , making the story bigger?"

Mike shrugs. "Some people did. He was incredible on the gear and on the practice range, but that's not the same."

"And then," Lotte says, "one day before Levi had a chance to disappear, this pack of Titans comes, and one of them caught Erwin off guard."

"The Titan was about to eat him," Mike says. He holds a piece of bread up over his open mouth and waves it around.

"So of course everyone was panicked," Lotte says. "There were no trees around to anchor to and the horses were going crazy."

"And then Levi just … well, you've seen Levi when he's moving. He just sort of … actually, you couldn't even see him. One minute the Titan had Erwin, and the next the Titan just kind of fell to the ground in pieces. And before we could even understand what had happened, while Erwin was still lying on the ground trying to wipe off all the Titan blood and guts, Levi shredded another four Titans." Mike lifts up the strips of napkin and tosses them in the air. They drift slowly down to the table and land in a disordered pile.

"So," Lotte says, "nobody thought he was exaggerating anymore about how many Titans he was killing when he was out of the walls. But now everyone was terrified of him."

"For weeks," Mike says.

"Every time he came into the mess hall, people would just stop talking," Lotte says. "And if he looked at them, they wouldn't meet his eyes. Or they'd … do you know _stotteren_? T-to t-t-t-talk l-like this?"

Roy nods silently. Stutter is the same word. And he can appreciate the similarities, but still. "This is not the same."

"Well," Mike says, with a quick inscrutable glance at Lotte, who is taking the opportunity to eat some of her own food. "No. But it's not so different either."

Roy sighs, exasperated. "Levi didn't kill _people_."

"He did," Mike says. Lotte is still eating and her expression is completely neutral. Roy realizes he knows very little about her beyond that she plays the fiddle and her voice, when she sings, is very pretty. Her accent is just a little different from Mike's, but Roy doesn't know where she's from, if her accent is any indication of social status or simply a geographic indicator. He wonders, suddenly, if she might be from the Underground like Levi. They share a similar affect to their vowels.

"Before he joined the Corps," Mike says. "Nobody talked about it, but everybody knew it."

Lotte makes a face, but Roy can't read it. "Nobody ever cared who killed who in the Underground. And once Levi joined the Corps, nobody cared that he was a killer, so long as he only killed Titans." She turns back to her meal, picking out the carrots one at a time. Lotte loves carrots, even boiled to little more than paste.

"It lasted a little while," Mike says. "But then the next expedition happened and Levi killed a dozen Titans, and"—he shrugs—"people got over it."

"The point is, no one blames you for killing Pinzer's men," Lotte says. "I'm sure Levi has told you this, and I'm sure Erwin has told you this, and Moblit's probably told you this too, but now we're telling you, and at some point, you'll have to believe someone. No one blames you."

"They're scared right now," Mike says. "I'm not going to lie and say they're not. They never really thought about what you could do. What you _would_ do. But when we go out again and you save their asses by killing a dozen Titans, they'll get over it."

Roy breathes in deep. The air in the canteen smells of stew and bread and butter; underneath it all is the smell Roy has associated with the military since he was at the Academy, some indefinable mixture of sweat and dirt and weaponry. It's familiar and comforting. He's a world away from home but the smell is still the same.

"I hope you're right," he says.

Lotte smiles at him and reaches over to pat his hand, the one with the array scratched in it, that he'd used to kill so many people. He wonders if she chose that hand on purpose. He thinks that she probably did. "We are," she says gently. "Trust us."

* * *

Levi will never be thankful that the Titans killed Farlan and Isabel. That day is and will always remain the worst day of his life, eclipsing even the day he realized that his mother's still, sleeping body was actually his mother's still, rotting corpse. At least on that day he'd borne no guilt; he'd understood even at his young age that illness had eaten up his mother from the inside out and there was nothing he could have done that would have made a difference. But for Farlan and Isabel's deaths, he was and remains haunted by the what-ifs and if-onlys: what if he'd never left them alone; if only he'd been faster returning; what if they'd stayed behind in the barracks; if only he'd never agreed to take the fucking job in the first place.

No, he will never be thankful that the Titans killed Farlan and Isabel, and he will never acknowledge that anything good could have come from it, even if he understands how a more dispassionate person might try to argue the case that Levi's decision to remain with the Corps was a positive outcome. The best Levi can say is that some good things occurred subsequent to the tragedy, or despite it.

But what he will acknowledge, what he can admit, is that as a consequence of losing Farlan and Isabel, he is well-equipped to deal with Roy now. Because Levi is intimately familiar with the highs and lows of grief and guilt and self-loathing that left unattended fester and grow.

It hasn't been so long yet, really, just over two weeks since Roy's rescue. Roy's only just gotten the stitches out, and his ribs are still wrapped and may be for another month. He doesn't have good days and bad days; he has good hours and bad hours. The hours are the increments by which Levi tracks Roy's progress.

During the good hours, Roy is mostly familiar, mostly himself. That's to be expected, Levi supposes. Roy killed a few dozen people, and that is horrible and traumatic but not actually a new experience for him. It is only new for Roy _here_ , in this context. During his war, Roy killed many more people, many multiples more, and somehow he came out of that experience sane, even if his coping strategies are not especially healthy ones. So, Levi is optimistic, perhaps naively so, that Roy can regain his steady footing with a little time.

But that optimism only surfaces during the good hours. During the bad hours, Roy is _horrible_. He is paralyzed with guilt and stricken with horror. He is worse than Levi has ever seen him, even at his drunkest, even on his most melancholic days. During those times, Roy is convinced he is some sort of devil or plague, that everywhere he goes he brings death, and that no good can come from his continued existence.

Levi is certain that Roy is not actively suicidal, not even during his worst moments, and for that, Levi is grateful beyond words. Levi can leave Roy alone without fearing that Roy will be dead when Levi returns. Roy doesn't want to die; it's only that he is afraid that time will inevitably bring another Ishval or another Pinzer. It's like he thinks slaughter is a cancer within him that he cannot root out.

"Demons don't care about the people they kill," Levi says, wondering if that makes _him_ the demon, because for all the people he killed in the Underground, he has never felt particularly repentant. He wonders too if he can blame that lack of remorse on Kenny, or whether his heartlessness is something inborn, his own unrootable cancer. "You only care because you have a conscience."

Roy looks at him, eyes bleak. He is fully dressed in his uniform but his jacket is open and his shirt is untucked and unbuttoned halfway down. Fading bruises mottle what skin is visible, a few patches rough with scabs. " _Geweten_?" he repeats. He sounds tired, not interested in a language lesson. "Ah," he says, a moment later. " _Gewissen_." He looks away and stares blankly through the doorway into the living room, toward the wall where Levi has recently rearranged his few pieces of art to make way for a newly framed painting Roy had seen in town and liked, the week before Pinzer. Levi isn't sure Roy has noticed the change yet.

"Having a conscience doesn't make you a good man," Roy says blearily. He barely slept last night and was up and out of bed before even Levi. Levi found him in the kitchen in the morning, writing furiously in one of his journals, ink blots scattered like drops of dried blood across the page. "Actions matter more than words or thoughts."

Levi thinks before he answers. He has to do that a lot more often of late. Roy has always been quick-witted and astute; now during the bad hours he is also combative and acerbic, and he will find every hidden nuance in Levi's words and turn them into a knife to slide effortlessly between his own ribs. That they've had this particular conversation half a dozen times already doesn't obviate the need for Levi to choose his words carefully.

"Actions matter," Levi agrees. He turns to the stove to check the water level in the teapot. It's almost empty, so he fills it up from the tap and sets it on the flame. "Have you eaten?"

Roy makes a dismissive face, which means he hasn't eaten but isn't interested in breakfast. The medicine Jansen gave him is wreaking havoc with his appetite and digestion. This certainly isn't improving his mood any.

"You should have a little breakfast," Levi says. In the cabinet, he has half a loaf of bread which is marginally softer than rock. Levi puts the bread brick on a plate and hacks at it with a knife until he has obtained a few slices. Those he promptly places in the oven to toast. He digs out some butter from the ice box, placing it near the stove to soften.

Roy watches all of this without much interest, but at least his eyes are tracking, so he is not lost in some nightmare world within his own head.

When the toast is ready, Levi serves them each a piece. His own, he slathers generously with butter and seasons with salt. For Roy's piece, he is more sparing with the fat because dairy seems to upset Roy's stomach now. Levi hopes this is a temporary state brought on by the cocktail of medications Roy's still taking; Roy's diet is ordinarily half cheese and Levi doesn't know what Roy would do to replace those calories if cheese is permanently off the menu.

Stale bread makes especially crunchy toast; even when softened with butter, it is almost like eating a cracker, but to Levi it's a taste of his childhood. His mother never had much money, at least not that Levi can recall anyway, and the bread they ate was always stale, even on the day she brought it home from the shop. But before she'd gotten sick, Kuchel did the finest needlework of all the whores, and Oskar the brothel owner would sometimes let her use the oven in exchange for some mending work. On those days she'd turn the stale bread into toast, add a scrape of butter and a sprinkling of salt, and present it to Levi as if it were the grandest meal imaginable.

Roy eats his toast almost daintily, taking small, precisely measured bites, holding the toast carefully over his plate so that the crumbs don't scatter on the table, even though toast crumbs will by nature scatter everywhere and even Levi isn't bothered by them, so long as the mess is cleaned promptly when the meal is done. It takes Roy nearly a dozen bites to Levi's six to finish the toast; he's either eating slowly in hopes of assuaging his petulant stomach, or else he's trying to pass the time without conversation. His hands are shaking slightly. He hasn't had a drink in over a fortnight. Levi isn't sure if the lack of alcohol and tremors are directly related or not.

After the toast is finished, Levi makes some tea for them both, Roy's sweetened with extra sugar since he is avoiding milk. The tea is black and would be bitter without the sugar. It's a little bitter even with the sugar, but Levi likes the way the warmth slowly spreads through his chest and stomach.

"Words and thoughts matter too," he says as if their conversation had never paused.

Roy sips at his tea, the hint of a frown crossing his face. Levi had taken the kettle off the stove once the water had boiled, but he'd washed the dishes before making the tea and so the tea is not piping hot the way Roy likes it. Roy could heat it easily with alchemy, but Roy has hardly touched his gloves since Pinzer and the array on the back of his hand has faded into a scratch mark so faint that Levi can tell it won't work, even if Roy hadn't shoved his firebox into the back of his underwear drawer beneath a pile of socks with holes that need darning. The glance Roy gives Levi is a little suspicious, as if Roy suspects that Levi's deliberately serving Roy lukewarm tea to goad him into using his alchemy.

Levi might in fact be serving Roy lukewarm tea to goad him into using his alchemy.

Roy, however, is not in the mood to be goaded and merely sips at the too-cool tea sullenly. "Actions matter most," he says, expression dour. "Then words, then thoughts."

"But thoughts still matter," Levi says. "Intentions matter."

Roy frowns. " _Bedoelingen_?"

"What you mean to do."

"Hmm."

There's a stray crumb on the table that Levi missed while cleaning the plates. Once he's noticed it, he can't ignore it, so he gets a rag and cleans the table again. If Roy were in a better mood, he'd tease Levi about being compulsive, but as it is, he just lifts his hands from the table obediently, tea cup held carefully aloft, when Levi wipes Roy's place.

"I would have killed everyone in the compound," Levi says calmly, rubbing at a stain on the tabletop that is probably only a trick of the early morning light slanting in through the curtains. "To get you back, I would have killed every man and woman there. And I wasn't drugged or beaten or exhausted. I wasn't out of my fucking mind." Well, he _had_ been out of his fucking mind, just not exactly in the same way Roy had been. He wipes a little more at the spot. Is it coming out? It's hard to tell. He rubs harder. "I would have killed them and I wouldn't have cared."

Roy's face twists. "You would—"

"—not have cared," Levi says firmly. "The only thing that mattered to me that day was getting you back, and I would have done anything to make that happen." The stain is not getting any smaller; Levi decides it's just a variation in the wood, and shakes the rag out over the sink. "Tell me, if it had been me who had been kidnapped, what would you have done? Would you have used your fire?"

The frown on Roy's face is fierce and taut. "Of course."

"Would you have killed them to save me?"

The teacup is back on the table, only half empty. It was either too cool or too sweet for Roy's taste. Before Pinzer, Roy would have complained. Immediately after, he would have drunk the full cup despite it not being to his taste. This is somewhere in the middle, and it is progress.

"Yes," Roy says finally, staring down at his fingers. He is rubbing his right thumb between his left forefinger and middle finger, pinching the skin that connects them, almost as if he is massaging away a cramp, though there is no muscle there to ache, and no scratch or scrape irritating the skin. "I would have killed them if that had been the only way to get you back, but—"

Levi holds up a hand to cut Roy off. "If you would have killed them to save me, why is it so terrible that you killed them to save yourself?"

Roy frowns and pinches the skin between his fingers harder. He doesn't answer.

Levi sighs and clears away the tea cups, rinsing them out carefully and then drying them and placing them back in the cupboard. "I just wish," he says into the cupboard, "that you put half as much value on your own life as you put on everyone else's."

Roy doesn't answer this either, but when Levi turns back around, his frown has morphed into something a little less severe, and his fingers are laced together and resting on the table.

"I have to go meet with Erwin," Levi says. "He wants to review the maps again." The next expedition is only a week away, and Erwin's anxiety level is ramping up accordingly. "What are you doing today?"

"Paperwork." For the past few days, Roy has been spending a few hours in his office, more or less time as his physical condition and mood allow. The renovation of the administration building is proceeding apace. The basement was damaged by a flood and must be entirely gutted, requiring an extensive crew of workmen hired from the city and neighboring villages; having that many civilians on base is a bit of an administrative headache. And then there are other areas of the building that are being reconfigured to Roy's peculiar Amestrian sensibilities: larger offices where people can sit in groups rather than work in isolation, conference rooms of different sizes for meetings, a room dedicated solely to receiving and sending mail, storerooms and a library. "Mike and Lotte and Jan want to practice. They want to play at the tavern one night next week."

"The tavern."

"Yes."

Levi again takes a little time to think before he speaks. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No." Roy grimaces, then sits up a little straighter in his chair. His eyes drift downward and he seems surprised to find himself so disheveled. Slowly, he starts buttoning his shirt, pulling himself together inch by inch. "But they say they cannot play without me, which is flattering even if it is an _offensichtlich_ lie."

Levi lets the unfamiliar word slide. "Don't let them talk you into something you're not ready for."

Straightening his jacket, Roy glances at him. In his eyes there is the faintest glint of humor, a tiny gleam of mirth that has been missing for weeks. "Does that seem to you to be a thing very likely to happen?"

"Not really, no." Far more likely the other way around. Roy's a smooth talker and stubborn as hell. If he is letting his musician friends drag him to the tavern where this whole nightmare started, then he has undoubtedly concluded on his own that he ought to go. Levi just wishes he knew whether Roy wants to reclaim a space that has brought him so much happiness, or if the impulse to go back stems from a darker place of self-recrimination and shame.

"You don't need to worry," Roy says, which is stupid. Worry is a thoroughly unproductive activity that no one ever _needs_ to do, yet that has never stopped anyone from doing it. "I'm not sure we'll even go. Our practice may be terrible. I haven't touched the piano since." He stops. Swallows. "Since the last time. And my hand is still a little bit aching."

Levi takes a few steps forward so that he can take said aching hand in his own. He massages it gently, letting his fingers trace over the faint lines etched into the back. Roy doesn't lean in but he doesn't pull away either. "I'll see you later," Levi says, squeezing lightly. "You'll be all right?"

"I'll be all right," Roy answers, and maybe that is just an optimistic hope rather than a promise, but either way, it is progress too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In under the wire on Wednesday! Blame it (again) on the art. Speaking of which, please take a moment to appreciate Roy's uniform because I did it almost entirely from scratch, barring the basic outline of a guy sitting at a table, and I'm very pleased with the little things like pockets and the strap and buckle across Roy's chest. I actually got a better art app but it's so complicated I can't figure out how to use it. :(
> 
> HUGE props to SapphireMusings for the title -- I'm set for this chapter and the next, woo hoo! 
> 
> Comments=love, as always. If you have a moment to drop me a line I would very much appreciate it. :)


	19. Two steps back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery happens in fits and starts and backslides. Roy is not okay. (You had to know something like this was coming.) Warning for lots of stream-of-consciousness run-on sentences.
> 
> Roy:  
> He attacks the closet next, not because he thinks it's especially likely that Levi would have hidden any alcohol in there, but Roy's sure he had left a bottle of _something_ here, and Levi's too frugal to have just thrown it away even if it was crap, so it's got to be here somewhere, and even if it's not in the closet, Roy's in the mood to destroy, to wreck and ruin, to introduce disorder into this space where everything is always too tidy and too neat.
> 
> Levi:  
> Levi's got his own bad days, but his guilt and remorse don't affect his sense of self. Maybe all that means is that he's known his whole life that he was no good, so he doesn't spend time trying to reconcile his identity. Roy is more fortunate to have had periods of time where he knew he was a good man; or maybe that's less fortunate, because it makes these kinds of days all that much worse.

Music practice is not horrible, even though Roy hasn't touched a piano for several weeks. He is rusty and he wasn't lying to Levi when he said his hand was still aching, but Mike and Lotte and Jan are forgiving and seem genuinely happy to have him there. They rib him gently when he flubs the notes. Though Roy has not yet gotten to the point where he can laugh again, he can smile when they tease him. Floris is there too, and because his violin playing at his best is not as good as Roy's piano playing at his worst, Mike and Lotte and Jan tease Floris too. Floris splutters and blusters but doesn't leave, and all in all, it is a pleasant evening. Roy can't be sure if everyone is trying too hard to be normal, or if they aren't trying at all, but he comes back to Levi's quarters late at night and goes to sleep next to Levi with music still ringing in his ears.

He wakes up alone with the taste of ashes in his mouth and sand underneath his fingernails. The music in his ears has been replaced by the screams of terrified Ishvalans, burning burning burning. _Murderer_ , he thinks, _monster_. His stomach cramps violently, painfully, and he is up and out of bed before he makes a mess of everything; he reaches the bathroom only just in time, and sits back on the floor when he's done vomiting, dizzy and disoriented.

For a minute, he doesn't know where he is. He was just _there_ , but the floor beneath him is cool tile, and the bathrooms in Ishval don't have tile. In the military camps even the officer's lavatories are tents, with latrine pits dug right into the sand and some poor unfortunate soldiers assigned to tend them daily.

He blinks, and slowly reality reasserts itself. He's not in Ishval. He's in Levi's quarters. It was just a dream.

But the taste of ashes in his mouth is real, and there's dirt beneath his fingernails, and the screams of the Ishvalans were the screams of Pinzer's men as Roy had burned them alive. Burned them alive like he'd burned countless Ishvalans, burned them to ashes, until everything that had ever made them human was gone …

His stomach twists again and he retches miserably into the toilet until there's nothing left in him but acid and a sick sour familiar feeling of self-loathing. His mind spins. He's not … he is supposed to be _better;_ he is supposed to have been _healed_. He knows he's not the monster that he feels like, that this is just some … some sickness in his head, that's all. He's been sick like this before, and it's supposed to have been gone, but even if it's not, even if it's _back_ — his stomach twists again at the thought that it might be back, that he's going to have to fight this again, now and here, without Riza and without Maes — but even if it's back — _fuck_ , he thinks, despairing, _please don't let it be back_ — but even if it is, he'll know what it is this time, just an illness, and that should make it easier, knowing what it is and that what he's feeling isn't … isn't _real_.

Except all the people he'd burned alive, they'd been real. That wasn't just in his head. That had happened. He'd snapped his fingers and they'd screamed and died and died and screamed and screamed and screamed. He'd snapped his fingers and they'd burned alive, burned to ashes, and he'd promised, he'd promised Riza and he'd promised Maes that he'd never do it again, and so what if it was Pinzer and his thugs, so what if they'd deserved it for what they'd done to him, the point is that Roy had made a promise and he'd broken it; he'd snapped his fingers and people had screamed and died and screamed and …

Roy surges to his feet. The movement makes his chest ache and his head throb; he sways dizzily but doesn't fall, and then he's out of the bathroom and into the living room, and somewhere in here there must be alcohol, surely. There must be something, wine or whiskey or that horrible excuse for beer that Levi likes best of all, though he hardly ever drinks. Roy is not feeling picky. Roy is desperate and will take anything, and surely _somewhere_ there's something alcoholic here, even if Levi had hidden it away from Roy because he thinks Roy drinks too much, which, fine, that might be fair, maybe he does, maybe alcohol is to blame for all of his worst decisions, save one, save the worst: the decision to learn flame alchemy and put it in the hands of the military; he'd been stone cold sober when he'd made that decision, because he'd been young and ambitious and he'd believed what he'd been told; what an idiot he'd been, how _stupid_ , how naïve — he'd believed and he'd followed orders and he'd snapped his fingers and people had died and screamed and nothing he ever did was going to change the fact that he'd murdered dozens, murdered hundreds —

Somehow through the chaos in his head he finds the cabinet where Levi used to keep the liquor and crouches down to search it. Bending down makes his head throb (more) and his ribs ache (worse); the world tilts sideways and he has to grab onto the side of the cabinet to keep his balance, so he's only got one hand to wrench the door open and fumble through the contents. It's not worth the effort. The cabinet is empty, at least of anything useful; all he finds are some extra cleaning supplies that Roy stares at fuzzily for a few moments. Only Levi would stockpile cleaning supplies, and it'd be funny if Roy weren't so desperate for something to drown out the snapping and the screaming and the dying in his head.

Roy pushes himself upright with a lurch, still-tender shoulder screeching in protest. He attacks the closet next, not because he thinks it's especially likely that Levi would have hidden any alcohol in there, but Roy's sure he had left a bottle of _something_ here, and Levi's too frugal to have just thrown it away even if it was crap, so it's got to be here somewhere, and even if it's not in the closet, Roy's in the mood to destroy, to wreck and ruin, to introduce disorder into this space where everything is always too tidy and too neat.

All Roy finds in the closet are lots of rags, mounds of them, folded and neatly stacked. The sight of them is maddening, their dingy-white orderly perfection a personal affront. He starts pulling them out, rough and haphazard, and soon the rags are all over the floor; soon after that everything from every nook and cranny in the room is everywhere, but still there is no liquor. The bedroom is similarly empty of anything alcoholic, so Roy heads to the kitchen because it's the only other room in this too-small, too-clean, claustrophobic little space he shares sometimes with Levi. Shared, surely, past tense, because Levi can't-won't- _couldn't_ _possibly_ want Roy to live here anymore, not sometimes, not ever, not when he knows now what Roy is, what Roy's capable of; how could Levi, how could anyone want Roy here in this world where they kill Titans but not people, they don't snap their fingers and burn people; only monsters and murderers and savages burn people, and he knows what he's done and he knows what he is, he knows, he's always known ...

_Shut up shut up shut up_ , he tells himself, because he knows he shouldn't be thinking like this; he's supposed to be better, he's supposed to be _healed_. He's not a monster, the doctors told him that and Maes told him that and Riza told him that and doing monstrous things doesn't make you a monster, it just makes you … makes you … he can't remember for an instant and he panics, but then he does remember. Doing monstrous things just makes you someone who's made mistakes, and that doesn't mean you're doomed, it doesn't mean you can't stop, and Roy _had_ stopped, he had promised and he had stopped, but then he'd snapped his fingers and Pinzer's people had burned and screamed and died, and what good is a promise if you don't keep it?

His mind is whirling and it's too fast and too loud and he needs it to shut the fuck up, but he only knows two ways to do that and that's to fuck or drink it into submission. Levi isn't here so fucking is out of the question, and there's no liquor anywhere he looks, only tea in the kettle that Levi always leaves on the stove, still warm from Levi's breakfast. Tea, what use is tea, unless it's for putting whiskey in? Tea is pointless, tea is futile. But then instinct runs quicksilver-lightning-liquid fast through the paths of his broken, reeling brain, and he pours some tea into one of Levi's pretty, delicate porcelain cups and claps his hands. There's a flash of light, brilliant and blinding and the tea isn't tea anymore.

Roy gulps it down and it's horrible, warm and tasting vaguely of leaves. It's the worst drink Roy's ever had in his life but he doesn't care, because horrible or not it he can feel it the second the alcohol hits his system. His jerks and shakes, shivering, then pours and claps himself another drink that slides down easier than the first.

He stops at two, not because he wants to, but because he's lightheaded and still nauseated and he doesn't have a clue how strong the not-tea-alcohol is, save that it burned on the way down, and he's panicking but he's not stupid, never stupid; that's part of his problem, really, how not stupid he is. Roy slides down the kitchen wall and puts his hands flat on the floor, one on either side of his body, his legs a barrier preventing him from clapping again by accident. He wedges his hands under his thighs as an extra precaution. The dark wood floor is solid and cool against his overheated skin. His mind is filled with white-noise static, snaps and screams and death and _monster_ _monster_ _monster_. Roy leans his head back and closes his eyes and waits for the not-tea to work.

"Roy?"

Roy drags his eyes open with effort. "Levi."

"What the fuck," Levi says. He sounds pissed but looks scared.

_Oh,_ Roy thinks guiltily, _I made a mess._ "Sorry," he mumbles, then repeats it again when he realizes he'd said it first in Amestrian.

"What happened," Levi asks, except his voice his kind of flat and his mouth is tight. Less scared now, more pissed. "I thought you were attacked."

_I was_ , Roy thinks, even if it was only from the inside. "I wanted a drink."

Levi's expression spasms and his mouth ends up even tighter. "There isn't any alcohol here," he says. "But I'm guessing you figured that out already. Come on. You look like shit. Why did you get out of bed? It's early."

"I wanted a drink," Roy repeats mulishly. It hadn't been too early for Levi to get up, only for Roy. Roy needs his sleep. Roy needs to be coddled. Roy is mostly useless. "And I had to get out of bed. I was sick."

"Yeah, you smell like it. Come on, let's get you washed up." Levi bends down and slides his arm around Roy's torso, careful to avoid the bad shoulder and so gentle around Roy's aching ribs. He heaves with seemingly no effort and pulls Roy to something approximating a standing position, then sniffs and frowns. "That's … what the fuck, are you drunk?"

Roy assesses himself before he answers. He doesn't lie to Levi. "No."

"Where did you even …" Levi's voice trails away and his eyes land on the tea cup that Roy had left carefully on the counter, even in his delirium sensible enough to take care with Levi's precious things. Roy was precious to Levi once, he thinks, even if he isn't any more, can't possibly be, not after what he'd done.

Levi picks up the cup and sniffs it, scowling. "This is _alcohol._ Where did you get it?"

"It's not-tea," Roy says. "I transmuted it."

Levi stares at him, and if his expression had been hard and flat before, it is now hard and flat and cold. Disappointed. Of course he's disappointed in Roy. Roy disappoints everybody in the end. Lets them down, can't be trusted, only brings pain.

But _— No_ , Roy thinks. _No, that's not true._ It's not true the same way it isn't true that he's a monster, no matter how many monstrous things he's done. Maes told him so, and Maes never lies. Roy risks another look at Levi, and Levi's face isn't hard and flat and cold, it's just … Levi's face.

"You shouldn't be drinking," Levi says. "You're on three different medications. But I guess you're not dead or in a coma, so that's good. Fuck it, I was gone for an _hour_. You're impossible." He sounds peevish but not angry, and his hands where they float on Roy's waist are still almost unbearably gentle.

Levi leads Roy out of the kitchen and back to the bathroom, where he strips Roy of his stinking sleep-clothes and washes him off, more careful than anyone's ever been with Roy in his life. Roy almost can't tolerate it, especially with the thrumming rhythm of _monster monster monster_ still beating in his head, quieted by the not-tea but not silent.

"I'm sorry," Roy says. "I'm sorry I took everything out."

"You threw it all over the place," Levi says mildly. He's combing Roy's hair now, and the scritch-scratch of the comb feels nice, soothes the buzzing in Roy's brain. "There are rags hanging from the curtain rods." He combs Roy's hair a little more, clucking a bit in annoyance at the cowlicks in the back that will never lie flat. "Are you mad at me?"

Roy can only stare, bewildered. Why in the world … "Am I … am _I_ mad at _you?_ "

"Mmm." Levi puts the comb down and eyes Roy critically. "Good enough. Come on, let's get you some clean clothing." He leads Roy into the bedroom and sits him down on the bed, not pushing when Roy refuses to lie down. "For leaving you alone. I wasn't here when you woke up."

"I … no, no of course I'm not mad. I'm not a child. You don't need to, to _babysitten_ me." He feels silly saying it, with Levi helping him into his uniform, buttoning his shirt and fastening his buckles.

"Same word," Levi says, without commenting on whether Roy needs minding or not. When Roy is dressed, Levi sits back on his heels and regards him thoughtfully. "So, what is it? You tore the place up. You were mad at someone."

Roy fiddles with the blankets, rough and coarse beneath his fingers. The texture reminds him of Ishval, where everything had sand in it all the time, no matter how good the laundering. _Monster_ , he hears faintly in his head. _Murderer._ He's not mad at anyone but himself.

Roy looks out the window. It's still only mid-morning, and suddenly the thought of staying on the base is unbearable. "Can we go out?" he asks.

Levi gazes at him, brow just a little creased. "Out where?"

"Outside," Roy says. "Off the base, out of the city, outside the walls. Can we go?" He sits up straighter with only a slight wince, kept tightly under control because if Levi sees his discomfort, he will never let Roy leave.

"Now? No. Why—"

"I need to go out," Roy says. "I can't be here. Not now. It's too loud. I thought … I thought the drink would help but it's not enough."

There's an instant of silence before Levi says slowly, "What's too loud?"

"My head. I know that sounds crazy"—it _is_ crazy, and he was supposed to be _better_ —"I know it, Levi, but please, can we just go out for a little while? Away from everyone?"

Levi shakes his head slowly. He's watching Roy a little like Roy's a rabid dog, cautious and wary. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

Roy breathes. He needs to be calm. Needs, at least, to act as if he is. "Please."

"You're still recovering. You've been drinking"—Levi's frown as he says that is epically disapproving, and Roy feels ashamed—"The Titans will already be active. Erwin will never let us go."

Roy knows he isn't thinking straight, and he knows that Levi knows Roy isn't thinking straight, but that doesn't dim his conviction that the only way to escape from his noisy, vicious brain is to go out to the quiet green growing place outside the walls, where his thoughts can stream out into the world with no buildings on which to bounce back. He has no way to explain this and is frustrated that he even has to try. He's not asking for much, he thinks. "Maes would take me," he says fitfully, twisting his fingers harder into the blanket because even that little bit of violence is grounding. "I wouldn't have to beg him."

The words are out before Roy even knows he's said them and he realizes his mistake immediately. Levi looks pissed.

Roy is usually more careful. He knows better; even when he has been drinking, he knows better, and two cups of not-tea are not sufficient excuse to explain his carelessness. When Roy talks about Maes, Levi's face creases with tiny lines of stress and unhappiness. Levi is jealous of Maes in some way Roy hasn't quite catalogued, so Roy tries not to speak of Maes too frequently and never suggests that Maes's presence would be preferable to Levi's.

Self-censoring is occasionally difficult but Roy doesn't mind. Maes has been gone for three years now and it's not healthy for Roy to dwell on his loss any more than it would be healthy for Levi to dwell on the loss of the incomparable Farlan and Isabel, whom Roy knows very little of except that he will never measure up to them.

"I'm sorry," Levi grinds out, so clearly straining to keep his temper in check that Roy feels guiltier still. "I wish I were better at this. I know it's shit, but I'm doing the best I can. I'm sure Maes knows how to make everything better for you. I'd bring him here if I could."

That is enough to briefly silence the demon voices in Roy's head, because could it be … is it possible that Levi doesn't _know?_

But he must not know, he must not realize, or he would never have said … Moblit tells Roy all the time that Levi is an asshole; the first time was when Levi left Roy, over a year ago now, but Moblit's said it many times since then, whenever Levi does something that is particularly Levi-ish; it's sweet, the way Moblit thinks he needs to explain this to Roy, but Moblit is, in his own bizarre way, protecting Levi by making sure Roy doesn't leave Levi for being a jerk. "He's an asshole," Moblit says earnestly, "but he means well."

Levi does mean well. Roy knows that. Which must mean that Levi doesn't know about Maes, because if he did, he'd understand that suggesting he'd bring Maes here makes Roy ache behind his breastbone like Becker had stabbed him in the heart instead of the shoulder. "Levi," he says slowly, pain throbbing in his chest at having to say the words out loud, because saying them out loud only makes them real, "Maes is dead."

Levi stares at him. His expression isn't blank, but it's unreadable, or at least, it's unreadable to Roy at the moment, with his mind still too loud and busy. Reading Levi is an art more than a skill, and Roy doesn't have any art in him at the moment.

"He died three years ago," Roy says doggedly.

"What," Levi says. It's not exactly a question, though it's not exactly not a question either. His face is pale and still.

"One of the homunculi killed him. It shot him. I … I was talking to him on the _telefon_ when it happened." They don't have phones here, which is more inconvenient than Roy would ever have imagined, considering they've only become widespread in Amestris in the past twenty years and many homes still don't even have them. But Roy's explained them to Levi, at least he thinks he has; then again, he'd been sure Levi knew Maes was dead, too. "I heard him die."

Levi curses softly, which is unusual — the softness, not the cursing — then he scowls, which is not unusual at all. "Come on," he says abruptly, pulling Roy to his feet. Roy bites back a curse of his own at the sudden movement. "If we're going to go, we have to go now."

"But"—Roy shuts up for a moment as Levi drapes Roy's cloak around his shoulders, fastening the clasp around his neck—"you said Erwin wouldn't let us."

"Fuck Erwin. If he wants to court martial us, he can court martial us." Levi's arranging his own cloak now. "I'll take that bet."

* * *

* * *

Of all the many bad ideas Levi has had, this is probably the worst; of all the many dumb things he's done, this is probably the dumbest. Roy is mostly healing but not yet healed; his stitches are out but he's still favoring his shoulder. His ribs are still too sore for any but the lightest of touches, which has made having sex a bit of a challenge, though one that Roy has been obstinately determined to overcome. He's not eating well and he's sleeping worse than he's eating. And fuck knows how Jansen's drugs are interacting with the transmuted alcohol, which is another whole problem to deal with. Later. Because beyond all the physical issues, Roy right now sounds _broken_. Somehow, Levi needs to fix it. Fix Roy. Roy can't fix himself, so Levi has to be the one to do it, because …

… Maes is dead.

Levi can't believe how rattled he is by this. Even as he helps Roy mount his horse at the stable in town where Levi has taken him so that Tess in the Corps stables won't report them to Erwin, all Levi can think of is that Maes has been dead all along, and Levi hadn't realized. All this time he's been so jealous, thinking that Roy was pining after Maes, wondering if Maes was somewhere pining after Roy, afraid that Maes would be the thing to pull Roy back to Amestris in the end. And for all this time, Maes has been dead. Roy hasn't been pining, he's been grieving, and Levi should have known the difference. He should have recognized it.

"You all right?" he says to Roy as Martin the stableman tacks up the horses.

He's asking for form's sake. Roy is not all right. He's pale and shaking, and taking him out of the city is the worst, stupidest, most horrible idea in the entire fucking world. No matter how much Roy wants to go, no matter how loud he says his head is — Levi hopes that sounds less crazy in Amestrian: that it's just an idiom; that it doesn't mean Roy is actually hearing voices like that guy in Levi's rat-infested apartment building in the Underground — no matter what Roy _says_ , Levi knows Roy _ought_ to be back home in bed, resting if not asleep.

But Roy wants to go out, and Roy is moderately lucid, and Roy has horrors in his past that are hurting him now, and Levi doesn't know how to fight them.

Maes would probably know how to help Roy through this … this fit, or whatever it is, but Maes is dead, and so Levi will have to do, no matter how piss poor a substitute he is.

Levi helps Roy onto his horse, reassured that Roy's able to sit upright and that his grip on the reins seems secure. "Come on," Levi says. "Before I come to my senses." Not that that seems likely to happen. Levi's senses seem to desert him entirely where Roy's concerned.

They leave the city through the tunnels, the ones that don't officially exist, that the smugglers use. The tunnels are small and dark and cramped, filthy and stinking. To Levi they feel uncomfortably like the Underground. The space between his shoulder blade itches and he turns, half expecting to see Kenny looming beside him, but there's nothing there but shadows.

There is no light in the tunnels but what they bring themselves. The rented horses are not as well trained as the Corps cavalry mounts and will not ride forward in the dark, so Levi and Roy have to dismount and lead the horses by foot, holding on to the reins with one hand and lanterns in the other. Even with lanterns, visibility is limited to a few meters and the going is slow and laborious.

"Does Erwin know about these tunnels?" Roy asks after they have traveled for a little while in silence. He's been twitchy and restless the whole time, and sometimes Levi hears him muttering to himself, which does nothing to make Levi feel confident that taking Roy out will prove to be a good decision in the end.

"Erwin knows pretty much everything," Levi answers eventually, shrugging. He's reviewing everything he packed in his rush to get out the door. They are fully geared up, and he brought several canteens of water, along with dried fruit and nuts and hard tack. He … fuck, he forgot Roy's medication, one of which he's still supposed to take three times a day. He clicks his teeth in exasperation.

Roy is oblivious to Levi's mental tallying. His focus is solely on the small patch of lamplight in front of him. "He doesn't close them up?"

"Not his job," Levi says. "It's up to the police."

Roy frowns. "And they are paid, yes? To not look too closely at what happens here?"

"Yes, but I don't think Erwin really cares what happens here. The tunnels are too small for Titans." The tunnels are almost too small for people, but perhaps that is just an effect of the lack of light, the dark as claustrophobic as an actual wall. Levi shrugs again. "Erwin doesn't care about anything but Titans."

Roy frowns deeper and tugs his horse forward. "That man. With the horses. Martin? He thinks I killed a hundred people."

Levi clucks in annoyance. He'd been hoping Roy hadn't overheard that part of the conversation; Martin had been negotiating for a higher fee. He'd also called Roy the Fire Demon; Levi _really_ hopes Roy hadn't heard that, because every time he does, he spirals further. "He's just repeating a rumor. Do you know that word?"

"It's the same. But—"

"It's just a rumor, Roy. You didn't kill a hundred people."

"Not here." Roy's voice is quiet and defeated. "But I did in Ishval. I killed more. I killed so many people, Levi. And I tell myself that I won't do it again, but …"

" _Roy."_ Levi is not cut out for this. He is sure there is no one in the world less cut out for this than he is. Possibly no one in two worlds. He has had this conversation with Roy over and over and over, but Levi's words don't seem to sink in. And yet he doesn't know what else to say. He can only repeat himself and hope that sheer repetition will succeed where logic itself has failed. "Listen to me. Whatever is going on in your head right now, it's wrong. Pinzer attacked you and you defended yourself. No one blames you. You're not in trouble. You're a good man, all right?"

The noise Roy makes in response is strangled, but Levi thinks it might have been a laugh in another life. "I am not a good man."

"You are. You are, I know you—"

"You don't," Roy says with finality. "You know only who I am here. You don't know who I was there."

_A murderer_ , he doesn't say, but he doesn't have to, because he's said it before, called himself a murderer and worse, and it pains Levi that Roy thinks this way. It pains Levi that nothing he says or does seems to make a dent in Roy's conviction that there is something fundamentally wrong with him, that he is, deep down, some kind of monster. It's like an illness, but one for which there's no treatment. Most days, Roy seems to understand that the things he did as a young soldier don't define who he is now, that he's not rotten at his core, but then every once in a while, his own thoughts turn against him and he seems helpless to fight them.

Levi's got his own bad days, but his guilt and remorse don't affect his sense of self. Maybe all that means is that he's known his whole life that he was no good, so he doesn't spend time trying to reconcile his identity. Roy is more fortunate to have had periods of time where he knew he was a good man; or maybe that's less fortunate, because it makes these kinds of days all that much worse.

They exit out of the tunnels to late-morning sunlight, bright and warm. The horses are relieved to be out of the dark but Levi's uneasy. This is prime time for Titan activity. Titans usually don't come this close to the wall, so staying here is probably safe, but doing so increases the chances that an alert sentry will spot them and notify the military police. For a little extra money, Martin gave Levi a copy of the watch schedules. Levi checks the paper, then the sun. If Martin wasn't lying, and the MPs are on schedule, Levi and Roy should be clear for at least half an hour before a patrol comes by, and they will need far less time than that to get over the nearest ridge and out of sight.

"We should move," Levi says, swinging himself up on to his horse. He doesn't actually trust the MPs to be on schedule.

Roy nods and mounts his own horse, a brief flicker of discomfort passing across his face at the movement. But just being on the other side of the walls has calmed Roy down some; his breaths are free and easy and he sits straight in the saddle, hands resting loosely on the reins. Even his eyes are alert, scanning the countryside. He's never been to this spot, a good kilometer or two removed from their usual exit point from the city, and it's pretty here, secluded and filled with a riotous jumble of brightly colored weeds and lush shrubs, plenty of cover for the smugglers who need to hide from police patrols.

Levi takes a breath to steady himself. He gets a sick feeling in his stomach every time they go outside, a moment of nausea when he can't help remember Farlan and Isabel, disembodied corpses lying in pieces on trampled wet grass, but it's worse on cold rainy days, and today is warm and aggressively sunny. It's easier in the sun to dissociate past and present. "Feel better?" he asks Roy, throwing his hood off.

"Mmm," Roy says, which is not really an answer. He twitches, and his horse whinnies, restless. "We shouldn't stay here."

"No." Levi tugs lightly at his horse's reins and sets out. Their path soon takes them across a small bubbling rill. A few fish dart away from their horses' splashing hooves; they are small and silver, or a dull speckled brown. Levi had never seen a fish until he joined the Corps and they are still alien-looking to him, stranger in a way than Titans. He finds their eyes particularly disconcerting, one on each side of their heads, but he also finds strange their odd breathing slits and big gaping mouths.

The ridge is not far away and the horses are eager to trot. Levi doesn't think they get much of a chance for exercise beyond slowly walking through town where obstacles abound: carts and stalls stacked haphazardly on every available centimeter of the street and throngs of people walking every which way.

Once over the ridge they are out of sight of the walls, and so they let the horses break into an easy canter, gaining a little distance as the sun seeps slowly overhead. Roy is unusually quiet but seems much calmer now than he had been in the early morning. Levi's not sure how much alcohol Roy drank, but he seems to have metabolized it all. When Levi asks him questions just to pass the time, Roy's answers are lucid and cogent. Levi doesn't mention Maes, and neither does Roy.

They stop for lunch by a small copse of trees, and Levi is pleased to see that Roy eats his entire portion of fruit and nuts plus half a piece of hard tack, soaked in water so they can eat it without risking a broken tooth. Roy recounts a story from his time in the military, after Ishval, when he was stationed in a place called East City. The name strikes Levi as lacking in imagination, but perhaps that is just the fault of the translation into Levi's language.

Maes does not appear to have been stationed with Roy during this posting, but Riza Hawkeye features heavily in the story. Levi wonders how it is that Riza was able to follow Roy from posting to posting, and whether that means either Roy or Riza had more influence than would be expected given their youth. Perhaps that too is the fault of translation of the story to Levi's language, or perhaps the military operates differently in Amestris than here, where age is a necessary foundation for any legitimate position of power.

Illegitimate positions of power are a different story altogether. Levi took over his first gang before his lower body hair had come fully in; his age hadn't mattered at all then, only how quickly he could subdue any detractors.

After their meal they remount their horses, who have been happily grazing on fresh grass, a treat they must get only rarely in Martin's stables. The morning's path was deliberately circular so that Roy and Levi have never wandered too far from the city; in the eventuality that Titans appear, Levi wants to be able to get back to the tunnels quickly, or the main gate in the worst case, though that would undoubtedly end with them in a military prison.

Roy is scanning the horizon. "No sign of Titans."

"They don't usually come this close to the walls," Levi says. "Not unless someone's leading them here. We should be safe."

"Mmm," Roy says again, but then he frowns. "But I don't want to."

Levi's stomach flips uneasily. There is a note of something in Roy's voice, impatience or displeasure, perhaps. "Don't want to what?"

"Be safe," Roy says, as if that is a perfectly rational thing to say. From his pockets he pulls out his ignition gloves, which Levi hadn't seen Roy bring, but of course Roy would not have come beyond the walls without them. Before Levi can ask Roy exactly what the fuck he thinks he's doing, Roy takes off, riding hard and low and in the opposite direction of the city. Levi has just enough time to think, _oh shit_ , before Roy snaps his fingers and shoots out a fucking _enormous_ sheet of flame, 75 meters long and as wide as a street.

Levi has seen Roy send flames over a farther distance, but only rarely, and even then, never of such breadth. He understands little about how Roy's alchemy works, but he has grasped enough of the science to know the energy required to convert the oxygen increases exponentially with the area involved. The amount of flame Roy has just created must be the alchemical equivalent of a dozen normal transmutations. (As if any of alchemy is 'normal.') "Fuck," Levi mutters under his breath, spurring his own horse on, "fuck, Roy, what the hell are you doing?"

What Roy is doing, apparently, is transmuting like he thinks he's never going to get the chance again. Snap after snap after snap, Roy shoots flare after flare of flame, wild and uncontrolled. Even though they're outside and Levi is not really that close to Roy (geographically for certain, and probably not mentally either), the air is fucking _hot_ ; Levi's already sweating and his horse is starting to buck restlessly beneath him.

"Roy!" Levi yells. "Stop fucking around!" His cry is in vain. Roy would not be close enough to hear him even without the roar of flame in his ear. With all the transmuting he's doing, Levi doesn't think Roy would hear him if they were riding the same horse. He looks wild-eyed and more than a little manic, like the transmutations are a poison in his system and he's trying to purge himself. Levi doesn't think it works like that, but really, who the fuck knows?

Another snap, another burst of flame so strong it looks like something exploded, and Levi goes momentarily blind from the glare. He rubs at his eyes to clear them, but when he's done there's still a smudge on the horizon. He rubs his eyes again but the smudge doesn't dissipate, and Levi realizes with a lurch that the smudge is a cloud of dust, which means only one thing. "Titans," he curses, then yells it louder, "Roy, Titans!"

Roy hears that somehow, maybe just attuned to the word, but he doesn't look upset. If anything, he looks satisfied.

Of course, he's satisfied, Levi realizes a moment later, cursing so foully that even he is a little shocked at himself. This was probably Roy's plan all along. This was _obviously_ Roy's plan all along, and Levi feels like an idiot for not realizing it immediately.

Transmuting drives the Titans crazy. Crazier. Roy's learned to be careful when he's in combat. Too many transmutations too close together and he'll just draw more Titans to himself and the rest of his team. It's a balance, like everything, and Roy seems to have figured out just how far he can push it; he does it so unconsciously now that Levi never even thinks about that danger, even though it's always present, that Roy in trying to help might end up making things worse.

Right now, Roy obviously doesn't give a fuck; the air is so hot it's shimmering, and Levi's finding it a little hard to breathe. Roy is snapping his fingers over and over, sending bursts of flame into the air, up, down, sideways, not aiming at anything, just transmuting over and over, and the Titans are coming like moths drawn to a flame. Levi groans inside his head. Whatever. Roy's the one who's good with words and jokes and puns. Levi's good with killing things.

It looks like Levi will have a chance to be good at killing things very soon. The Titans are running fast, galloping towards them, thundering feet raising clouds of dirt, looking eager and pissed and even more crazed than usual. Roy leaps off his horse and sends it towards a nearby grove of trees with a thwack on its rear, staring at the oncoming Titans with a fucking insane glint in his eye. Levi hops off his own horse and sends it to safety, cursing himself for falling for Roy's drunken pathos and taking him out of the city. Okay, fine, Roy had been losing his shit back in Levi's quarters, and finding out he'd immolated Pinzer and his thugs was a brutal blow to his psyche from which he is still reeling, and no matter what Roy says, he is still struggling to adjust to life here, and let's not forget that fucking Maes is fucking dead, and … well. And everything. But _still_. There is drunk and depressed and there is suicidal and insane, and Levi is well used to dealing with Roy in the former condition, but not so much in the latter.

The first Titans reach them and Roy goes kind of berserk. He cuts the first one down from 10 meters away with a burst of flame focused so tightly Levi thinks it must have drilled a hole into the Titan's neck. The creature crashes to the ground, face down; Roy leaps lightly onto its back and fells another two in quick succession.

The way Roy insists on hugging the ground still makes Levi nervous. Roy is more than competent with the ODM gear now but he still doesn't like it; in wide open spaces like this, when the only choice is to anchor to the Titans, Roy usually just doesn't even bother.

Levi doesn't feel the same. He loves the freedom of the gear and he finds anchoring to the Titans in many ways preferable to anchoring to trees, not only because of the sweet irony of using the Titans' own massiveness against them. He feels it now, as he sinks his bolts into the nearest 15-meter Titan and shoots into the air. Roy's reckless crazy display has called a horde to them already; the profligate way he's using flame to kill the Titans that have already arrived means more Titans will surely be on the way.

Adrenaline floods Levi's system as his power sings within him. The Titans will keep coming as long as Roy is using his flame. If Roy's not using the ODM gear, he can use his flame for a long time, far longer than he could before Hange got a hold of him and trained the hell out of him.

Levi soars through the air, lands on the Titan's shoulder and slices into his nape, releasing his anchors and heading off for the next one before the first has even realized it's dead. Roy's already killed three and is aiming for his fourth; Levi has some catching up to do if he doesn't want to give Roy bragging rights.

This is insane, Levi thinks, as he flips head over heels and kills a second Titan without even touching down. He is certifiably insane, because there are dozens of Titans surrounding them and who knows how many more on their way, and there is no way two people can defeat that many, so he should be feeling terrified, not exhilarated. But he's a goddamn Ackerman and Roy's a goddamn alchemist, and when this day is over and the Titans are all dead at their feet, the first thing he's going to do is punch Roy in the jaw, and the next thing he's going to do is drag him onto the nearest horizontal surface and fuck him senseless, because there is honestly nothing he would rather be doing right now and no one he would rather be doing it with.

There's a flash of pure white light off to his right, and a 20-meter Titan crashes to the ground.

That's four for Roy, to Levi's two. It's unacceptable. Levi grins and shoots his anchors towards a lumbering pair of 15-meters. Time to stop fooling around and get down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I love this chapter but it's exhausting. Tip of the hat to WhiteCollarNonsense for anticipating Roy acting like a suicidal maniac. :) And finally, _finally_ Levi learns that Maes is dead. About time.
> 
> Art in the middle because it belongs with the first scene. I love this one although SapphireMusings was put off a bit by the bare legs. Sorry, my love, but I am not up to the task of putting in abdominals. This one's going out as is. I took out lots of commas this morning, if that makes you feel any better.
> 
> Warning: next chapter may not be out until next weekend instead of mid-week. I need to do some writing. I guess the good news is I'll get to stick in some content that I always wanted to put in but hadn't found a good spot for. But sometimes the words don't want to cooperate. Fingers crossed it goes smoothly!
> 
> Comments=love! They make me so happy. Also, they let me know people are still reading this behemoth. So if you liked this, or you want to yell at me for the first part of this chapter (or the second part, for that matter), drop a line! I promise to reply.


	20. Home repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I did say I had to write something more ... turned out to be about 4,600 extra words to add to this chapter. But I managed to meet my own deadline to post this weekend, yay! :)
> 
> Where we left it: Roy had a complete meltdown, trashed Levi's quarters, got drunk off transmuted tea, then convinced Levi to take him outside the city where he called Titans to them using alchemy, and proceeded to go on a Titan-killing spree, Levi at his side.
> 
> And now, what happens next.
> 
> Levi:  
> "Fuck," Erwin says. He drops his head all the way down to the desk and stays there, hunched over, for almost a minute. When he raises his head back up, he's calm again. Tic-less. Almost resigned. "You're going to be the death of me someday, Levi."
> 
> "I'm only in the Corps because you brought me here, sir."
> 
> Roy:  
>  _Murderer_ , his mind had been screaming at him yesterday, and no amount of thinking had made it shut up. Today he hears _killer_ , and that is not quite so bad. _Killer_ admits the possibility that someone else bears some responsibility. It's enough to loosen the choking noose of guilt so that Roy can breathe.

Safely back inside the city, Roy's passed out in bed and Levi is in Erwin's office getting flayed alive. "Have you lost your mind?"

Erwin's voice is entirely flat and calm, but there's a tic in his eyebrow that Levi has learned is a very bad sign. Levi shifts uncomfortably. He's tired and a little achy and filthy, and would pretty much rather be anywhere else at the moment than being here, getting scolded. "… no?"

"Goddamn it," Erwin says. So much for flat and calm. "What the hell were you _thinking_?"

"He needed to go out."

"He needed to go out. Really. He needed to go out. Drunk off his ass and in the middle of some kind of melancholic fit, and he says he 'needed to go out,' and _you took him_?"

Levi doesn't tolerate stupid questions from anybody, not even Erwin. He crosses his arms defiantly across his chest and says 'yes' as blandly as possible. Then, grumpily, "And he wasn't drunk off his ass."

"Fuck," Erwin says. He drops his head all the way down to the desk and stays there, hunched over, for almost a minute. When he raises his head back up, he's calm again. Tic-less. Almost resigned. "You're going to be the death of me someday, Levi."

"I'm only in the Corps because you brought me here, sir."

Erwin sighs heavily. "Pyxis is going to be all up my ass."

"He needed to go out. He was half out of his mind. And it was a good thing I took him. He was going to burn _something_. Better the Titans than us."

Erwin rubs the base of his neck. "For all these years, I thought you were the worst I was ever going to have to deal with. Nobody was ever going to cause me more trouble than you. That's what I told myself at night so I could sleep."

Levi's obliquely offended, though he's not exactly sure on whose behalf. "Roy isn't more trouble than me."

"But nobody cares what happens to _you_."

Levi's definitely offended on his own behalf now. "Fuck you too."

Erwin has apparently reached the end of his tether; Levi's never seen his expression take on this particular flavor of desperation. "You're a pain in my ass. Constantly. A huge, constant, never-ending pain in my ass. You make me crazy. Nobody else in this entire godforsaken world can make me as crazy as you do. You drive me to drink, Levi. Do you know that? Sometimes at the end of the day, I go back to my quarters and I drink myself into fucking oblivion because the only thing that gets me through our afternoon meetings is knowing that after we're done I can go home and get plastered."

Levi's offense is melting into vague alarm. "Are you all right, Smith?"

"No. No, I am not all right. Your alien boyfriend killed 41 people and got himself drunk on transmuted tea and instead of keeping him confined until you could be assured of his mental state, you disobeyed a direct goddamn order to keep him the fuck on base and took him out of the walls. What _is_ that? How is anyone supposed to believe I have any control over anything when you just ignore everything I say? How is anyone supposed to fucking respect me, Levi, when it's obvious you don't?"

Levi straightens. At his desk, Erwin is pale and apparently a little shocked at himself.

"I respect you," Levi says stiffly into the very awkward silence. He is not lying. He does respect Erwin as much as he respects anyone. Doesn't like him, but respects him. "This had nothing to do with you."

Erwin laughs, tired and maybe a little bitter now. "And that is the crux of the problem right there. It has everything to do with me. You think you only need to follow the orders that you like, but nobody else is going to notice when you ignore the others. I'm the commander of this unit, Levi. Every time you ignore me, you undermine my authority. And now there's this, with Roy. If I lose command of this unit, what do you think's going to happen to him? To you?"

"Lose command … what are you talking about? You _are_ the Survey Corps."

"Only so long as people believe I'm in control." Erwin sighs. "No one has ever believed I have control over you. It was fairly obvious I didn't. But they believed I had control over everyone else, and that's been good enough. But now, with Roy? The two of you do whatever the hell you want, and the fuck with whatever anyone else says. How many Titans did you kill?"

Levi feels a moment of whiplash. "What?"

"When you took him out. So that he wouldn't burn this whole place down. You were gone for most of a day. How many Titans did you kill?"

Levi's jaw tightens, seemingly of its own accord. "All of them."

"Levi." Erwin's voice is heavy and exhausted.

"Every single goddamn one we saw. Roy called them to us with alchemy. I wasn't counting. More than 41. Fifty? A hundred? It was"— _insane, thrilling, electrifying_ —"intense."

"Fuck." Erwin presses the heel of his hand into his left eye, then runs his hand up and through his hair, over his head and down the back of his neck. He looks beaten down in a way that has Levi feeling unaccountably guilty. "I'll talk to Hange. We'll come up with something. Say Roy's alchemy was unstable from the drugs and you took him out until he had it under control. I don't know. We'll make up something. Did you really kill 50 Titans?"

They had killed 50 Titans in the first hour and a half. They'd kept killing Titans until the sun had gone down and the Titans had stopped coming. Then they'd ridden away from the steaming corpses, washed off in a stream and fucked in the grass, close enough to the walls that they'd have been spotted if the sun had still been out. When they'd finished, Roy had — finally — seemed settled. "Yeah. Roy was …" Levi thinks for a minute, trying to find any words to describe it. Roy had been enraged, angry at himself, this world and the larger universe. He'd been fury and power and death. And for a little while, he'd been completely out of control.

It'd been fucking glorious. _Roy_ had been fucking glorious, and Levi's Ackerman side had responded. He'd been high on power, drunk with it, blood singing; it had been so _easy._ The Titans had fallen before them one after another after another. Maybe they'd killed a hundred or two hundred — they could have killed a hundred more if night hadn't fallen. They could have killed a thousand. "If it helps, he's better now. He burned it out." Whatever _it_ had been; Roy had been so angry, but Levi's still not exactly sure at what. Roy had gone quiet, though, when night had fallen and the Titans had stopped coming. By the time they got back to the city, he'd been calm.

This doesn't appear to be especially convincing to Erwin. He rubs his hand over his face, stopping at his eye and massaging it like it aches, like Roy does sometimes when it's late and he's been doing a lot of reading in insufficient light and he's being too stubborn to wear his new glasses because he hates them.

Erwin switches to his other eye, using the palm of his hand this time. "I guess there's no question that he's ready to come with us next week."

It would be silly to protest otherwise, considering. "His ribs are still bothering him," Levi allows, "even though he won't admit it. But yeah. I guess he's ready. Physically, at least." Mentally might be another story. Levi's a pessimist by trade and by nature, and he's not naïve enough to think that Roy's going to wake up tomorrow morning miraculously guilt-free and emotionally stable. But he'd been more himself outside the walls than he's been since being kidnaped; maybe going out on another expedition is exactly what he needs.

Erwin glances at him, but his eyes are distant, looking somewhere far away from this room. He sighs, then, long and deep and heartfelt. "It's a shit show, Levi. The MPs think he's rabid. They want him put down like a dog."

Levi's blood surges, power singing, and he has to clench his fists to keep himself from letting it show. "They're not coming near him. He'll kill them first." Levi would help. And so would Hange, and Moblit and Mike, and Armin and Eren and even Mikasa, and Sasha and Jean and Lotte and Anke and Jan … everybody Roy knew, everyone whose life he'd touched, everyone who loved him and had feared for him when he'd been taken. Roy wouldn't want their help and wouldn't need it — he'd proven that 41 times over — but he'd have it anyway. He'd have them.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Erwin says. "For all our sakes."

* * *

Fifty Titans is what Levi tells Roy to claim, the morning after Roy's breakdown when Roy wakes up in Levi's bed sore and bruised and somewhat unclear as to whether the events of the previous day had actually happened or had been some bizarre and disturbing dream. Fifty Titans, Levi says; that's what he told Erwin and that's what he told Hange and Moblit, and that's what Roy should tell anyone who asks. Fifty Titans, because that is more than any other two people would realistically have been able to kill, but it won't sound impossible for Roy and Levi. It won't sound scary. Fifty Titans, because Roy and Levi might possibly have killed four times as many Titans but they wouldn't be able to defeat the combined might of the Military Police and the Garrison if it came to that. If Roy and Levi were deemed too dangerous to be allowed to roam around free.

"Fifty," Roy agrees. He doesn't remember how many Titans they killed, except that it was a lot. He hadn't been counting; it hadn't been a competition. His head is still a little fuzzy and when he goes into the bathroom to wash his face, he's assaulted with the very visceral recollection of huddling over the toilet retching, his mind whirling with thoughts of _monster monster monster_. But he's calmer today, more settled than he has been since before Pinzer, and when his mind veers unerringly toward Ishval, he feels only sad and regretful, not crushed with guilt and self-destructive.

"If I give you a cup of tea," Levi says evenly when Roy comes into the kitchen, "do you promise not to transmute it?"

Roy stops in his tracks. Levi doesn't often joke, and to joke about _this_ is … well, it's obviously a deliberate attempt to make light of the disaster yesterday morning had been, or else it is not a joke at all and just an honest question. Levi's eyes give nothing away.

"I promise." Levi passes a cup over and Roy takes a sip of the tea, strong and black and bitter, the way Levi likes it best and that Roy has learned to enjoy. He doesn't feel the slightest desire to turn it into alcohol, only embarrassment that he had done so yesterday. Roy isn't entirely sure how he'd managed the transmutation in the first place and hopes he's never desperate enough to try again. "If you hadn't thrown out my last bottle," he suggests lightly, "I wouldn't have had to transmute some more."

Levi stares at him with narrowed eyes. "You'd better not be blaming _me_ for that," he says, but there's no heat to it, and the toast he makes for Roy has extra jam to make up for the lack of butter.

"No." Roy eats his toast in four bites and wonders when he will be able to tolerate dairy again. He likes jam but there is a limit. "After the war," he says, dragging his finger through a sticky blob of jam on his plate, "I was not"—his mouth etches down into a frown of its own accord—"not well," he says. "Not healthy. In my head. But I was … I _am_ … better. It's only that some of the times my brain is still …" He stares down at the plate intently because it's one thing to admit to mental illness; it's quite another to look at Levi when he says it. "It's like, _ahm,_ a habit. To think a certain way. I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I can't help it." _Murderer_ , his mind had been screaming at him yesterday, and no amount of thinking had made it shut up. Today he hears _killer_ , and that is not quite so bad. _Killer_ admits the possibility that someone else bears some responsibility. It's enough to loosen the choking noose of guilt so that Roy can breathe.

"Hmm," Levi says, with no inflection whatsoever to help Roy figure out what kind of reaction that is. Levi doles out two portions of oatmeal from a pot on the stove, drizzling both portions with a generous spoonful of honey. He sits down across from Roy and studies him critically. "You seem better. Did fighting the Titans help?"

"Yes." Roy takes a spoonful of oatmeal. It's warm and sweet and the texture is velvety smooth. "Sometimes I get angry, and if my brain is being bad, I can't … " He shrugs. "Fighting the Titans was a way to let the angry out."

"Anger," Levi corrects. "Angry is the, the, what do you call it? Adjective. Anger is the noun."

Roy can't help but smile a little bit at that. "Anger," he repeats. He takes another bite of oatmeal. Levi is swirling his spoon around his own dish, mixing in the honey until it disappears. Roy prefers his honey draped over the surface in thick strands of ropy gold. "Was Erwin very angry?"

Levi's mouth twitches. "Well," he says after a pause. "He wasn't _not_ angry."

Roy sighs. It's horrifying to think that he's causing Erwin as many headaches as the Elrics had once caused Roy. The paperwork alone … "I'll have to apologize. To, what is _bitten_? To go on your knees and ask for something?"

" _Smeken,"_ Levi says. "You shouldn't beg. Just _vermijd_ him."

Roy thinks about that while Levi eats his oatmeal. " _Meide_?" he hazards. "To stay away?"

"Yeah. Avoid him for the next day or two if possible. Maybe until we leave for the expedition."

Roy stills in the act of bringing a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth. He lowers it back down to the bowl, careful not to let the oatmeal splash out. "I'm allowed to go?"

There is a pause as Levi considers his words. When he speaks, the words come out slow and measured. "If you don't have any more days like yesterday, then yes."

Hopefully Roy will have no more days like yesterday ever again. Roy knows there are no guarantees with this sort of illness, but he feels so much better today it's hard not to be at least a little optimistic, no matter how foreign that is to his nature. Going on an expedition will be good for him, Roy decides. Beyond the urgency to be at Levi's side, he thinks it will be therapeutic to put his flame to good purpose, to use his fire to destroy monsters and keep his friends safe. And to let some more of the angry — anger — out so it doesn't overwhelm him again. He should probably have done it sooner, he realizes abruptly. Like setting a controlled burn in the woods so the entire forest isn't lost to wildfire.

They finish their oatmeal at the same time. Roy collects the toast plates and the oatmeal bowls and brings them to the sink to wash. The kitchen is otherwise as spotless as the rest of the apartment, no evidence of Roy's breakdown in sight anywhere. Levi must have been up half the night cleaning. Roy would feel guilty if middle-of-the-night cleaning weren't habitual for Levi. He'd probably liked it.

Levi peers into the oatmeal pot and frowns at what he sees inside it. He has no measuring scoops and is forever over- or underestimating the amount necessary to serve two people. Roy silently hands Levi a clean spoon, and Levi digs in to eat what's left. He will never throw food away, even if it is only a few spoonfuls of oatmeal. It's something to do with his childhood, Roy thinks; the habit speaks to months or years when food was scarce and precious.

While Levi is finishing the oatmeal, Roy fills up the sink with water and starts washing. After a moment, Levi hands him the empty pot. Roy puts it in the sink to soak while he rinses off the other dishes.

Levi steps next to the sink to dry the dishes, and they work in comfortable silence for a little while, Levi a small, solid presence at Roy's side. Levi never feels the urge to fill up the silence with empty chatter. Roy is less comfortable with quiet. "Levi," he hears himself saying. "Would you tell me about Farlan and Isabel?"

The rhythmic swipe of the dish towel over a chipped clay plate pauses for a moment and Roy worries he has overstepped. But then Levi breathes in once, slow and deep, finishes drying the plate and puts it away in the cabinet. Leaning against the counter, he folds his arms across his chest, tense and cautious but not hostile. "What do you want to know?"

Perhaps Roy has overstepped after all. Levi's expression is not especially welcoming. But then again, he has not told Roy to fuck off, and Roy thinks he would have if that's how he felt. "Whatever you want to tell me," Roy says. "I … it's only that"—he frowns down at a bit of oatmeal stuck on the bottom of the pot—"all these times, I thought you knew Maes was dead." It still hurts to say it out loud but not as much as it had yesterday. Perhaps he's been wrong all along; perhaps he should have been saying it out loud every day. "And I thought, that is something so, so _grundlegende_ ; how could you not know? But then I thought maybe the, the fault is mine. Maybe I never said you. Told you, _scheisse_." Speak, tell and say still trip him up occasionally after all this time.

"You didn't," Levi says. "You hardly ever talk about Maes at all."

"Because I was thinking you don't want to hear it." Roy ducks his head and looks down into the sink. The pot is finally clean. "And because it hurts too much." Roy rinses the pot one final time and hands it off, then grabs a towel to dry his hands. "I think maybe it's the same for you with Farlan and Isabel. You never talk about them. I know only a little of them from Moblit and the others."

Levi frowns a bit, maybe pissed off that Moblit was talking to Roy about Levi's past, or maybe just on general principle. He takes the towel from Roy to dry his own hands then crosses past Roy to head into the living room where he sits down on the couch and leans back, head tilted up to stare at the ceiling.

"I know Farlan and Isabel are dead and almost nothing else about them." Roy pauses. "I know almost nothing else about your life before I came here."

Levi considers this thoughtfully with the same careful attention he gives to everything Roy says, in the way that means that everything Roy says matters, whether it's Titans or alchemy or the latest variety of cheese he's just discovered in a shop a town; Roy's words are important to Levi just because they're Roy's words. Because Roy is important to Levi, even now.

"Go change," Levi says abruptly.

Roy looks down at his uniform reflexively, but everything looks fine. His trousers are neatly ironed and creased — Levi's doing, not Roy's — and his buckles are all in order. His jacket is clean and tidy, and under it he's wearing a shirt of pale lilac with a round neck and no buttons; it's what Roy would have called a work-shirt in Amestris, not appropriate to wear as part of a uniform, but no one here seems to care what goes under the jacket and Roy really likes the color. "Why?"

"You can't wear your uniform where we're going. Go put on something else. Something comfortable. We're going to have to ride. Wear the blue trousers and the green shirt."

"The green shirt is stained." The stain is cherry juice from a regrettable incident with pie a week before the abduction. Roy has not had much enthusiasm for laundry in the past month and Levi blames Roy for the pie incident and so won't help with the stain.

"I know. It'll be perfect." Levi heads to the bedroom and starts rummaging around in his closet.

"Perfect for what? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you've wanted to go for a while," Levi says, but won't say anything after that.

* * *

Roy cannot stop staring. "But—" He shuts his mouth and cranes his head to look around. "Where … where are the lamps?"

Levi has his hands crammed in his pockets, so his shrug is muted. "There aren't any."

"But there must be. This is not natural sunlight."

"No."

"Then there must be lamps somewhere."

"Don't know," Levi says. "Never thought about it."

Roy is baffled and amazed in equal measure. "How could you not? We're underground. It should be dark."

Levi shrugs again. "Like I said, I never thought about it."

Roy stares some more. This is nothing like he imagined. " _Es ist wunderbar_ ," Roy says faintly. " _Fantastisch_."

"Same word," Levi says absently. "You're probably the first person to say so." He hunches down into himself a little further. "Anyone from here would say it's a shithole."

Roy swivels his head around again. He feels like a gaping tourist staring at the crumbling ruins in Creta, ringed with enormous marble columns improbably still standing after centuries of war, and pockmarked vacant-eyed statues of gods and goddesses lost to the mists of time; airy, eerie colonnaded temples and disintegrating marketplaces where canny vendors hawk cheap clay imitations of monuments to a distant, ill-remembered past. This place is nothing like that at all, but Roy's sense of wonder is the same.

A young child stumbles past them in pursuit of a mud-colored ball. The boy bumps into Roy and tosses a cheery, "Sorry, sir," over his shoulder as he rushes forward after his quarry.

Levi moves in a flash, faster than Roy's eye can process, and clamps a hand on the young boy's shoulder, arresting his motion with a squeeze that is sure to bruise. "Nice try," he says, unamused.

The kid tries to twist around to get away and starts screeching for help when he realizes he can't. His vocabulary is impressively offensive, Roy thinks, a little horrified, though if this is how the preteens speak in the Underground, it explains a lot about Levi's love of expletives.

A tall man appears from where he was lurking in an alley. He is big and burly, dressed in serviceable clothes that are fraying a bit around the edges, and he needs a shave and a haircut. He levels an unpleasant look at Levi and Roy, then drops his gaze to the boy and plasters on a look of concern, obviously feigned. "Tobias," he says like he's worried, which he clearly is not. He projects his voice louder than natural. A small crowd of people start to drift over, scenting excitement. "Is that man hurting you?"

"Yes, papa," the boy cries, voice high and with a credible waver, the wet glimmerings of a tear in his eye. He is small and pale and fine-boned, and there is no way he is the man's biological child. That doesn't mean no family relationship exists between the two, though Roy tends to doubt it. The man's gaze is too clinical and mercenary, absent any real care except for what he might get out of the situation.

The man turns to Levi and settles his face into a practiced scowl. He cracks his knuckles ostentatiously and the watching crowd tenses. This is the part, Roy supposes, where Levi is supposed to let the boy go and grab for his wallet in an attempt to smooth everything over. Levi looks disinclined to play his part. He ignores the man altogether and directs his attention to the squirming boy. "We'll take the watch back now, kid."

Roy jolts and pats his pocket, finding it distressingly empty. That little …

The large man's face contorts further. "Are you calling my kid a thief?"

Levi looks vaguely amused. "We both know he's not your kid. C'mon, brat. Just give the watch back and nobody gets in trouble."

"I don't have any watch," the boy says, wide-eyed and sincere and painfully innocent. Roy is impressed at his acting ability. Irritated, but impressed.

Levi sighs. "I'll give you a coin for your effort. I just want the watch back."

The boy looks like he's considering it for a moment, but the man must sense the potential loss of a big payday and steps forward, looming threateningly. "You stinking rich above-grounders think you can come down here and do whatever you want! You let go of my son right now, you little"—He trails off suddenly, staring down at Levi from his 30-centimeter advantage and scrutinizing Levi's face. His complexion turns an interesting shade of pale green and he takes a cautious step back. "You," he says, eyes wide. "You're …"

Levi adjusts his stance in a way that Roy has learned to be very cautious of, just a subtle change in the position of his feet. The hand that isn't on the boy's shoulder drifts almost casually towards his waist, where an armed man might keep a knife or a gun. "I'm what?" Levi prompts, when the man doesn't finish his sentence.

The man goes even paler, and words start to tumble from his lips, rushed and haphazard. "Nothing. You. You're … I'm sorry. This was all a misunderstanding. I'm sure you weren't hurting him."

"I wasn't," Levi says evenly. He loosens his grip on the boy's shoulder. The boy immediately runs over to the larger man, looking back at Levi with narrow-eyed suspicion.

"Tobias," the man says, "give the nice men their watch back."

The boy's mouth goes slack with shock and indignation. "But you told me—"

" _Tobias_." The man's eyes never leave Levi and he is starting to sweat. "Give them the watch and apologize."

After a stubborn moment, the boy utters a sullen, unconvincing 'sorry' and reaches inside his shirt to pull out Roy's pocket watch, which glints brightly in the not-sunlight emanating from nowhere. Roy, feeling like a bit of a fool for being dumb enough to have his pocket picked, steps forward to take the watch with a word of thanks, which afterwards makes him feel even stupider. He tucks the watch carefully away inside his own vest, safe from any other light fingers that he may encounter.

" 'm sorry, sir," the man says to Levi, ignoring Roy altogether and sketching an awkward bow to Levi, bending to a depth lower than even Bradley would have demanded at his most haughty. "We meant no offense."

Levi looks skeptical but also a little uncomfortable, and he stands stiff and silent until the man straightens, looking sick. "None taken," Levi mutters eventually. The man sucks in a relieved breath and his face starts to regain a little of its color. His hand on the boy's shoulder is shaking.

Levi flips a silver coin to the boy, enough to buy some nonnevot at Opa's, more than enough for an entire meal at an inexpensive tavern. "You're good," Levi says to him gruffly. "But you'll need to be better if you don't want to get caught next time."

The boy blinks at him suspiciously and doesn't say anything in response, though his fingers tighten around the coin. The man bows again, mumbles another apology and a thank you, then tugs the boy roughly away by the arm. As soon as they are a meter or two away the boy starts whining querulously, gesticulating wildly with his free arm; a moment letter, Roy hears him squeak, high-pitched and frantic, twisting around to stare. "That was _Levi_?"

Levi shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking. The watching crowd melts out of his way like snowdust in the sun and Roy hurries to catch up. When they are side by side, he risks a glance at Levi's face. Levi is scowling furiously, color high in his cheeks.

"You're famous," Roy says a half a block later, when it has become obvious that Levi is not going to speak first.

Levi scowls harder. Roy sympathizes. Levi is recognizable to most citizens of Trost, but that is as Humanity's Strongest Soldier, a title that makes him uncomfortable but one he can at least be proud of. Levi's position in the Corps isn't what makes him famous in the Underground, and Roy is certain he isn't proud of it.

"You haven't been back here for … how many years?"

"A long time," Levi says. "I don't know exactly how many years. More than 10, less than 20."

They walk another half a block. Roy tries to keep his tone neutral when he speaks. "That's a long time for them to remember you. You must have been. Hmm. _Unvergesslich_. They can't forget you."

" _Onvergetelijk_ ," Levi says. He doesn't offer any more than that and Roy doesn't want to push. Whatever instinct had led Levi to bring Roy here doesn't seem to have made him especially willing to actually talk about his past. Perhaps this is all he can bring himself to do.

Soon they arrive at an intersection of two large streets. In one corner, there is a rectangular patch of dirt on which half a dozen children are playing some kind of game that seems to involve hitting a small ball with wooden sticks. Levi stops to watch the game for a moment, frowning, then he turns on his heel and walks down the street to the left. They've reached some kind of garment district, the streets lined with stores selling fabric and buttons and sewing equipment, each shop pressed close up against its neighbors. "This isn't at all like you said it would be," Roy says.

Levi casts another side-eyed glance at him. "What do you mean? I said it was a shithole and they'd eat you alive." His tone indicates that he has already proved his point.

Roy flushes and reflexively reaches for his vest, feeling the heavy lump of his watch safely hidden away, but then he gestures at the buildings on either side of the street. "It's not a shithole at all. It's nice here."

Levi stops in his tracks and turns to stare at Roy as if Roy has lost his mind. "It's _nice_?"

"Yes. It's clean, there are houses and shops, and the people look like they have enough food to eat." From what Levi had said, Roy had pictured dingy alleys lined with shacks and hovels; hordes of unwashed people scrounging for scraps; poverty and crime and suffering all around. Instead, he and Levi are walking down a wide boulevard lined with stores selling goods that don't look remarkably different from what is sold in Trost: bakeries with fresh bread and pastries, a bookseller's, another shop selling tools and other household items. Roy has seen streets like this one in every major city in Amestris. The most disconcerting aspect is the light, diffuse and pale, which comes from everywhere and nowhere.

Levi's expression is complicated. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to live here. This is the best of it."

"If you say it," Roy concedes. They walk a while longer, Levi leading without commenting. The streets grow grimier the farther away they get from where they came in. Roy wonders if distance from the exit matters. Mostly, Roy and Levi are ignored, but a few people do an obvious double-take when they see Levi and scoot away to give them a wide berth.

"Here," Levi says, stopping in front of an alleyway that to Roy looks indistinguishable from any of the dozens of others they've passed. They are edging towards the heart of the Underground now, and the area is ill-lit and sketchy, like the Central slums that house the Ishvalan refugees and other unfortunates, the drunks and the drug addicts and the third-rate criminals the rest of the city would like to pretend don't exist.

"Where are we?" Roy asks.

"This is where I met Farlan." Levi steps into the alleyway. It leads into a courtyard made from tall walls and the side of an apartment building. There are a few dirty children huddled around a trash pile, digging through it; they scatter when Roy and Levi approach.

"Here?" It doesn't look to be a very memorable place.

"He and his gang tried to mug me," Levi says. "Their mistake." A corner of his mouth turns up, but the smile is fondly recollecting, not smug.

That … is not what Roy had imagined, though he's not exactly sure what he had imagined; Farlan and Isabel are such vague concepts in his head. "I didn't know Farlan was a thief." He didn't know much of anything, really.

Levi nods with a hum of agreement. "Only because he needed to be, not because he wanted to. There weren't a lot of opportunities down here. If he'd been born Above, he might have been anything else. He was smart. _Gewiekst_."

 _Gewitzt_ , Roy supposes. Shrewd. Savvy.

"His _moraal_ were a little _twijfelachtig_ , though," Levi says. Morals is easy; _twijfelachtig_ takes longer. _Zweifelhaft_ , Roy concludes eventually, saying both words in his head. Dubious.

"But he was loyal," Levi continues. He's kicking absently at the trash heap the children were picking through. "And fierce. And"—he looks at Roy, mouth twisted, then takes a breath and continues—"handsome."

Roy takes a minute to be definitively _not jealous_.

"Anyway," Levi says. "He was stubborn. I couldn't shake him no matter how hard I tried. We just kind of …" He shrugs, neatly eliding what Roy is sure was the slow development of prickly, obstinate affection. "We met Isabel a few years later, I guess. She was only a kid, but no one really gets to be a kid down here. She was on the run from some creeps. If they'd caught her, they'd have …" He frowns angrily, bending down to pick up a rock and then throwing it at the wall hard enough to send chips of stone flying. Levi breathes, long and slow, then continues with his voice and breath carefully modulated to be calm. "We helped her out and then she just never left."

 _Like me_ , Roy thinks, discomfited.

"They were my family," Levi says. "I never thought I'd have one, and then I did, and then they died." He stares intently at one particular section of the courtyard. Roy tries to imagine him standing there, younger and dirtier and angrier, surrounded by unconscious bodies of Farlan's erstwhile gang, Farlan himself glowing like a sunbeam. Then there would have been Isabel, smaller and younger, Roy supposes, but she must have been feisty and stubborn if she'd wormed her way under Levi's mostly impenetrable skin.

Levi falls silent again. Roy wonders if that is for his own sake or for Roy's, if Levi thinks that he needs to protect Roy from knowing that Levi loved someone else once, the way Roy has always wanted to protect Levi from Maes. Or maybe Levi is trying to protect Farlan and Isabel; maybe he thinks they won't stand up to Roy's scrutiny. Levi doesn't need to fear on that account. Anyone who ever loved Levi is safe from Roy. "Tell me more about them," he says, touching Levi gently on the shoulder. "Tell me from the beginning."

A small look of uncertainty crosses Levi's face, but then his expression settles, resolute. He bends over and leaves a few coins buried in the trash pile: a surprise for the children when they come back. "Come on," he says, heading back out of the alley. "I'll show you where we lived."

* * *

The next expedition comes and goes without incident. Some of the Corps is a little skittish around Roy, but that fades the moment Roy uses his fire to kill the Titan who was about to eat Gregor. Erwin is still irritable around Roy and Levi, but it's not much worse than usual, and honestly Levi doesn't really care all that much how irritable Erwin is. It's not like Levi cares about Erwin's mood.

Levi cares about Roy's mood, and Roy's mood has been steadily improving. He still has the occasional bad moment, but they are fewer and far between and he is better able to handle them when they arrive. He speaks more freely of Maes and Ishval than he ever has, and in return Levi tells Roy what little he can remember about his mother and what he can bear to remember about Kenny. It helps both of them, Levi thinks. The speaking and the listening help them both.

One morning a week after the expedition, Levi takes Roy to see the larger quarters he'd examined with Moblit. Levi still hasn't actually asked Roy about moving into shared quarters, and Roy doesn't say anything about it when Levi takes him on a detour while on their way to Roy's office, but he does lift an eyebrow when Levi unlocks the door to the quarters and waves him in.

"Hmmm," Roy says after they've entered and Levi has shut the door behind them. The room is shadowy, lit only by a few sullen sunbeams that have worked their way around the slats in the cheap wooden blinds. Levi lights a lamp and draws the blinds all the way up, the slats rattling as they draw together. Outside, the day is gray and cold and damp. Hardly a hint of light peeks from behind the heavy cloud cover. Even in the lamplight, the living room looks dark and dingy, not particularly inviting. Levi wonders if that is some kind of sign.

Roy is silent as he checks the quarters out, competent and efficient, much more methodical in his examination than Levi had been. Levi supposes it is all that work Roy has done converting the administrative building into a useable space, so similar to Roy's peacetime duties in Amestris. Not once during his examination does Roy ask why they are here.

The living room is the first Roy investigates, which makes sense since it is the first room off the small entrance foyer, but there is not very much of interest to see here, just a battered Corps-issued sofa remarkably similar to the one in Levi's current quarters and a similarly battered side table on which the lamp sits. Even the lamp itself looks battered, with a large dent on one side of the base that does nothing to increase the lamp's minimal aesthetic appeal, not that it had been designed to have any. The lamp is functional, and that is about the most flattering thing one can say about it.

From the living room, Roy moves to the kitchen. The tile floor is stained and cracked in several places, though none of the cracks is so bad that it could not be fixed with a little extra grout. Bleach and a little effort would probably remove the worst of the stains. The small dinette set crammed into the corner is identical to the one in Levi's quarters and Roy spares it hardly a glance, though he does press down on a corner of the table to make sure it is evenly balanced. The table holds up under pressure, and Roy hums, seemingly satisfied.

Then to the bedroom. Roy is drawn first to the closet, which Levi finds peculiar though he couldn't have articulated why. Roy opens the door, peers inside, and grunts in a matter that is thoroughly unenlightening as to whether he deems the storage space suitable or not. He shuts the closet without saying a word; Levi remembers contemplating whether Roy would store his Amestrian uniform in the back and clamps his lips shut to avoid accidentally saying so. It's too early in the game for that. Though as Levi thinks that, he wonders what game he thinks they're playing, and if he is familiar with any of the rules.

Roy runs his fingers over some of the nicks in the furniture, and his mouth turns down in the barest hint of a frown when he sees the listing wardrobe with the crooked door. "This would take ten minutes for a carpenter to fix," Roy says, disapproving.

That may be true, and perhaps in Amestris they have the resources to spare on such trivial repairs, but the Corps has plenty of other things for its carpenters to do than fix cruddy old furniture in rooms that aren't being used. Levi is confident he can fix it, but what would take a carpenter ten minutes will probably take Levi two hours. "Can you fix it with alchemy?"

Roy looks like he's about to say no, but then he stops himself, and looks at the armoire thoughtfully. "I don't know," he says. "I've never tried to do something like that. Edward or Alphonse probably could."

"You were able to fix the dresser in my quarters." This is as close as Levi usually lets himself come to mentioning the Night of the Spikes. The incident is still a sore spot for Roy.

"That was much simpler," Roy says. He sounds distracted and is running his fingers up and down the edge of the door, feeling around the hinges. Then he bends down to check the legs, treating Levi to a fairly spectacular, unobstructed view of Roy's ass in his uniform trousers. "To restore a flat surface is not hard. It's like melting butter. This would need more much, hmm, finesse?"

"Same word," Levi says automatically. "I can probably fix it myself."

Roy straightens and gives Levi a skeptical look.

"I mean it," Levi says, only a little bit stung. "It probably just needs to be shaved down a little, right? How hard can it be?"

The look morphs from skeptical to exasperated. "Don't touch it. I'll fix it myself or get Nicklas to do it. His father is a _zimmerman_. _Ahm_ , wait, I know that. Carpenter." From the way Roy's eyes keep drifting back to the wardrobe, Levi suspects Roy will repair it himself without Levi there to witness it should the first attempt fail. It will be good for Roy to have a challenge he can use his alchemy for that doesn't involve destruction. They don't make enough of an effort to do that, Levi thinks. Hange only ever studies the offensive capabilities of Roy's alchemy. But viewing alchemy as a weapon — viewing Roy as a weapon — is what the Amestrian army did. Levi doesn't want the Corps to make the same mistake. Especially now, after Pinzer.

Roy's examination of the bed is more thorough than any other part of the room. He actually pulls out a tape measure, humming approvingly at the results. Levi cannot imagine why he's carrying around a tape measure in the first place. Presumably it's for the administrative building. Roy has been spending every evening for the past week squinting at blueprints, muttering under his breath and rubbing at his eyes. Levi has been biting his tongue not to suggest Roy wear his brand new glasses, the ones he has for when he's not fighting Titans. That too is a sore spot for Roy.

The mattress is not only wider than Levi's, it's longer too. As short as he is, Levi has never felt particularly cramped in the bed, but Roy's feet sometimes dangle off the end of the mattress.

When Roy's done with bed, he checks out the dresser, clucks disapprovingly at the sticky bottom drawer, and scuffs his shoe over the worn spot in the carpet that Levi had expected him not to notice. This is Roy in assessment mode, Levi supposes; no detail is overlooked.

The window is the last part of the room Roy examines, and he spends several minutes staring outside. The view has not improved from when Levi last saw it, and certainly the dreariness of the day is not helping. The dirt paths are full of puddles from nighttime rains, murky brown pools of mud ready to attack an unwary walker. 

"It's nice," Roy says, finally.

Levi joins him at the window. 'Nice' is anemic, and Roy's vocabulary is certainly large enough for him to choose a better adjective if he were so inclined. But Levi's not clear whether Roy's talking about the view or the quarters in general. Levi still hasn't actually asked Roy if he wants to live here with Levi. Levi has assumed, perhaps presumptuously, that Roy will understand the implicit invitation. Is it a little cowardly of Levi to ask without asking? If Roy does not want to permanently and officially move in with Levi, Roy can simply pretend he doesn't know why Levi brought him to see these quarters in the first place. No need to turn Levi down, no need for anything to change. They can continue to squeeze into Levi's too-small bed most nights, and Roy can cram his essential clothing into a quarter of Levi's closet and a drawer and a half of Levi's dresser, with extra clothing in his rarely visited quarters — for an emergency, perhaps. For an escape, if he needs it.

"I think they will be very happy here," Roy continues blithely.

Levi heart squeezes so painfully he can't, for a moment, breathe.

"Um," is what Levi says when air flow resumes. Who is _they_?

"Lotte complains all the time about the, the … what is the word? What you can see from Mike's quarters," Roy says. He's standing at the window, looking out over the ground, brown and muddy. "All there is to see is the infirmary. She's tired of looking at the sick people, she says."

Levi had no idea that Mike and Lotte were dating. He barely even knows Lotte; probably would never speak to her at all if she weren't part of Roy's troupe of musician friends. Levi has never once heard Mike mention her out of that context, but perhaps Mike has and Levi has simply never really listened. Although, actually, he is reasonably certain that Moblit once told him Lotte has a thing for Hange, which doesn't, of course, preclude her from also having a thing for Mike. It's also possible that Moblit was talking about someone else entirely. Levi tries his damnedest not to listen to all of Moblit's blather.

"I don't know what they'll do when the baby comes," Roy says, adding a thoughtful hum at the end, and eying the room as if considering its suitability in a new light. "I suppose they can put a … a … what is _kinderbett_? A small bed for the baby? Eh, the word isn't important. They can put one here if they move the dresser."

"Lotte is pregnant?" That is … surely Levi would have heard about _that_. Moblit would have said something, and even trying hard to ignore him, Levi thinks a detail of that magnitude would have registered.

"Mmm." Roy is still examining the room carefully and critically. He is now running his finger along the windowsill, like Levi does when he is checking for dust. Roy has never exhibited much concern about dust, so perhaps he is checking for rough wood that might leave splinters in delicate baby skin. "In true, I think she may be having twins. She's very big."

Twins. What?

Levi stares at Roy, who is now squatting down to examine the worn spot in the rug. Roy appears oblivious to Levi's attention, which is certainly a pretense; Roy is preternaturally attuned to others' regard. But whether honestly oblivious or just pretending to be, Roy is poking around the rug, testing the feel of the fibers. He remains intent on this task for several minutes, at one point crouching on hands and knees to examine the rug at eye level. Finally, he sits up, resting on his heels like a child. Roy is very flexible. He claps his hands, inclines forward and places his fingertips precisely around the perimeter of bald patch. Light flares and Levi feels a faint electric ripple of transmutation energy; when Roy sits back, the worn patch is gone. The newly repaired spot is not, upon close inspection, quite perfect, but if Levi had not already known it was there, he thinks he would never have spotted it.

"Hmm," Roy says. He peers closely at the rug and runs his fingers gently over the rough knap, then straightens so he is back on his heels again. His expression is slightly smug, if faintly surprised. "That worked better than I thought. I think even Edward would approve." He stands up, his breath leaving his body in a faint huff. "It's good," he says, satisfied. "Lotte wouldn't like it if the rug was damaged. She's very full of emotions right now." He lowers his voice like he is telling a secret. "It's all the, _ahm_ , _hormone_."

Hormones. The fuck. A faint seed of doubt sprouts, unfurls, and grows very quickly into a blooming flower of suspicion. "Are you," Levi says slowly, with a close eye on Roy, "are you shitting me?"

"Hmm?" Roy blinks innocently. "Shitting you about what?"

Levi stares at him hard.

Roy stares back, perfectly composed, eyebrows high and beguiling. He is the picture of straightforward honesty, earnest and forthright, unimpeachable.

For several moments, it is a contest of obstinacy. Levi spent much of his youth intimidating his way through the Underground and his stare has made men bigger and stronger than Roy weep, but Roy is in this instance imperturbable and immovable. He projects a sense of wholesome integrity that might lead a man to sell Roy his horse and cart, then buy it back at twice the price and think he's gotten a good deal.

Eventually, though, Roy cedes, though this yielding can in no way be construed as Roy losing; rather it is simply a graceful bowing out of a competition that might otherwise have continued for hours with no one the winner. Roy's concession is inked with a wisp of a smile that starts at one corner of his mouth and works its way up his face, spreading across the bridge of his nose to end at his eyes.

"Fuck you," Levi says, though it comes out more affectionately that he intends. It is hard to resist Roy's smile, especially after it was absent for so long. "Moblit told you, didn't he."

"Last week." Roy's tone is blithe. He seems unconcerned that he nearly caused Levi to have a stroke. "I don't know why you thought he could hold a secret for this long."

"I threatened to castrate him if he said anything."

Roy scoffs. "You say that all the times. Time."

"Someday I'm going to do it."

Roy looks understandably skeptical. Then his expression lightens and his grin turns swiftly to a smirk. "Mike and Lotte. Really, Levi? I might as well have said Erwin and Zöe were taking the quarters together."

"Then I'd have known you were shitting me," Levi says grumpily.

"I thought you would know anyway in the first instant. Lotte is not pregnant," Roy says. "You should known, _ach_ , you should _have_ known. She's so thin. There is not even this much fat on her." He holds up two fingers close together. "And she isn't interested in men like Mike."

Levi has no idea how much body fat Lotte has. He knows what she looks like and that she isn't terribly heavy or unhealthily skinny, but he doesn't think he could get more specific than that, if pressed. Also, he has no idea what it means that Lotte is not interested in 'men like Mike.' He wonders if that is some Amestrian idiom. "What are men like Mike?"

Roy thinks. "Men who are"—a short shrug—"so like men in their every way. Big and tall and hairy." He pauses. "If you tell her I said she's pregnant, even as a joke, she'll hit me with her fiddle. Don't tell her."

Since there is no version of this story that doesn't make Levi look like a gullible jackass, Roy has nothing to worry about, but Levi dutifully promises anyway.

"You should have seen your face," Roy says cheerily, as he heads back out into the living room, giving it another once-over. "I wish I had a _kamera_."

Levi searches but can't find a cognate. "A what?"

Roy is busy at the walls, measuring the wall between the doorway to the kitchen and the far corner, the border of the space where Moblit thought a table and four chairs might fit. Roy wields the measuring tape like Levi wields his sword: swiftly, decisively and seemingly without effort. He writes none of the numbers down, but Levi knows that by this evening the dimensions of the space will be recorded with sketches in one of Roy's notebooks, accurate in every particular: the length and width of each room, the location of every doorway and window, even, perhaps, estimates as to how the sun will hit each room at various times of the day.

"A _kamera_ ," Roy repeats without looking up. He is now crouched down measuring the height of the windows from the floor; they are, in Levi's estimation, a few centimeters higher along the wall than the windows in Levi's quarters, but Roy will not settle for anyone's estimation, not even Levi's. " _Ahm_ , I don't know what else to call it. It is a machine to take the _fotos_." He looks up then. "I showed you the _fotos_ from my wallet. The little pictures."

Levi remembers the tiny portraits, painted with such incredible detail, one after the other, each more amazing than the last. Apparently, they are not paintings at all, but something else called _fotos_. Levi cannot imagine a machine that could capture an image so close to life, but then again perhaps it is an alchemical invention. The existence of such a machine is no more implausible, he supposes, than the existence of a man who can will fire into being by wresting invisible energy from the air.

"Roy," Levi says suddenly. "This is a yes, isn't it?"

Roy does look up at that, tape measure dangling from his fist. He blinks silently at Levi for a second before he grins again, wider this time, the smile settling deep into the creases around his eyes. Roy has a thing about his eyes, is sensitive to their shape, but to Levi they are as gorgeous as every other one of his features. Levi thinks Roy would look strange, not like himself, if his eyes were regularly round. "I can't say yes to a question you haven't asked."

Bullshit, Levi thinks, then says it aloud.

"It is not bullshit." Roy comes over to Levi and tugs him over to the window nearest the bedroom, positioning him precisely so the window frames his body. Roy then backs away a few steps and cocks his head, assessing something. Levi has no idea what it is.

"What," Levi asks flatly, "are you doing?"

"Just seeing what you will look like in the morning," Roy says. "When I come out of bed and pass here"—he motions with his hands—"to go to the bathroom, and you will have already been up for hours cleaning something that doesn't need to be cleaned, and you'll look at me and smile. I will have only one eye open and too full a bladder to stop and admire you properly, but by the time I'm out of the bathroom you will be standing just there." He pauses. "Maybe you will have some tea already made for me."

Levi always has tea ready for Roy in the morning. Does Levi also always stand in the middle of the living room, waiting for Roy to stumble from the bathroom, only slightly less bleary-eyed than when he'd entered? Does Levi love the sight of Roy, face freshly washed with hair curling damply at his temples, pajama bottoms beginning to fray at the bottom and resting low and tantalizing on his hips, stumbling over for a kiss tasting of cool mint?

Of course he loves it. Levi is mostly sane, after all.

"Sometimes," Roy continues, "you will be wearing your apron and your gloves and your mask and a cloth on your head, and you will pull the mask down and take the gloves off by the time I come out of the bathroom. And sometimes instead of cleaning you will already be working on a report for Erwin, and you will be in your uniform trousers but just your undershirt, and seeing so much of your arms will make me crazy because it will be morning and I'll have slept too late so I will know I have to wait all the way until nighttime to touch you properly."

Roy pauses for a breath. Levi can't breathe, himself.

Air resupplied, Roy goes on. "Sometimes I will sleep so late that you will be already fully dressed, and I will be jealous of the way your harness straps wrap around your thighs. Not so often you will just be standing there sipping tea, thinking, and your eyebrows will be bent just a little bit down and you will be running your finger around the edge of the tea cup like this." He demonstrates, index finger tracing an invisible china rim in perfect imitation of a habit Levi had never noticed in himself but knows to be true. "And all those times you will look perfect, standing by the window, and I will want to kiss you."

"You can," Levi says after the moment it takes his lungs to recover, in a voice he hardly recognizes as his own. "Always."

Roy is standing very close to Levi. The pale sunlight highlights a tracing of silver at his temples, the barest hint of age coming on, only visible because his hair is otherwise so dark and lustrous. Levi himself has far more gray, streaks settling in comfortably around his ears, a few silver strands sticking defiantly up where he parts his hair, more still speckled in the stubble on his face when he's gone too long without shaving. Mostly Levi pretends he doesn't see it. At times he feels old enough that his hair should be utterly white or just gone altogether; sometimes in the face of the Titans he feels like a terrified child.

Levi feels all of his years right now, but no less and no more, caught in a nebulous middle age, too old to believe in true love and happy endings, but still young enough to want one for himself anyway. He moves forward at the same time Roy does; their noses bump together as they kiss, but that's okay. Levi likes Roy's nose. Levi like every part of Roy, even the sarcastic, lazy, sloppy, melancholic ones. They are all just parts of Roy.

"That _is_ a yes," Levi breathes when they part. Levi's chest is heaving even though they have done nothing but kiss. He is not even aroused. It's just that his body's too full of feeling to hold air, he thinks.

"I told you," Roy says, "I can't answer a question you haven't asked." He is still standing so close that it seems as if Levi can hear his words before they have left his lips. "But I would very much like to live here with you while you build the courage to do it."

Four days later they move in. Levi puts an extravagantly comfortable set of new sheets on the bed while Roy unpacks his clothing. Roy's uniform is hanging neatly in the dark back corner of the closet; his extra uniforms are hanging there too, next to Levi's smaller one. Roy is placing his socks in the top drawer of his half of the dresser. All the drawers are working fine now. Roy has more pairs of socks than Levi had guessed, even generously estimating, and Roy folds them into tight little bundles so they will all fit in the drawer along with his underwear and undershirts.

Out in the living room, Moblit and Mike are cursing at each other while they put the legs on a dining room table that Roy found in a second-hand store in town; the table was cheap because it needs repair but Roy says tables are easy to fix, much easier than the listing wardrobe with the crooked door that took him three attempts to get right. Roy promises that after the table has been fixed and refinished, it will look brand new and elegant. Levi trusts him on this. Roy has also found them four chairs, really two sets of two, but he says that when they are refinished to match the table it will all look like a set. Levi trusts him on this too. Levi doesn't care if the furniture matches anyway. He never in his life expected to have a dining room set for four, matched or otherwise.

He never expected any of this. He definitely never expected to have an official document that says he is, in the eyes of the military at least, part of a couple, a two-person unit — a piece of paper that says that for all intents and purposes, he and Roy are, so far as the Corps is concerned, effectively married.

They're not _actually_ married.

There's more to marriage than just sharing quarters and a closet and a dresser, more than medical proxies and visitation rights. Marriage isn't something Levi's ever considered for himself; after Farlan, he never imagined he'd find anyone he could tolerate for any length of time, much less find anyone who could tolerate him in return. His success at the latter is even more surprising than his success at the former.

They're not married. They're just sharing quarters. It means what it means and no more than that.

But.

Well.

It doesn't mean _nothing_.

Roy has finished putting his socks away. Levi thinks he counted 18 pairs, not including the ones on Roy's feet. And now Roy, whose shirts are still stacked in a neat pile on the dresser waiting to be put away, Roy who has 15 boxes of belongings to Levi's 10 but none of them containing alcohol, Roy who hasn't stopped smiling since they stepped into these quarters this morning, now Roy is ignoring the shirts and his shoes and his trousers and his journals and his innumerable toiletries in favor of helping Levi put their new sheets on their bed.

"You're smiling," Roy says, as he tugs a pillowcase over his pillow, recklessly disregarding the placement of the seams.

Oh, Levi thinks. So that's what his face has been doing. He'd been wondering. "I'm happy," he says, because it's true.

Roy's smile grows wider and he crawls across the bed to give Levi a sloppy wet kiss.

"Hey!" Levi hears from the other room, where his idiot friends are assembling his furniture for no good reason other than that Roy asked them to. "Keep your clothes on until we leave!"

"No promises," Levi calls back, and pulls Roy down to field-test the expensive sheets.

The expense, Levi concludes after a while, when they'd kept their clothes on but only just barely, was well worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was as fun for you as it was for me. The examination of the new quarters is another one of my favorites. Aw, who am I kidding? Pretty much every scene in this story is one of my favorites. There's always one line or one paragraph or even one turn of phrase or something that I adore. But I must say that Roy being snarky and teasing Levi is so much fun.
> 
> Art: wasn't going to have any, but then I had an extra day while the accommodating and wonderful SapphireMusings speed-betaed the new stuff. So I got to do a little atmospheric piece.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please drop a line and let me know if so ... I appreciate it so much!


	21. Prickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is again a little bit of plot. Things are happening. But there is also talking and stuff. 
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy's gaze flits again from Levi to the papers and back to Levi. Levi stands impassively, though he might be tilting his head at the angle he knows calls attention to the precise portion of his neck that Roy is obsessed with, and maybe the breath he draws in is a little slower and rougher than it needs to be, and perhaps his hand flutters down innocently to hook into the waistband of his trousers.
> 
> Levi is not above resorting to shameless manipulation.
> 
> Roy:  
> The atmosphere is pleasantly companionable, almost too much so. Roy is bothered by it sometimes, how quickly he has settled into this life, how quickly being here has become normal and routine, how infrequently now he thinks about going home.

When Roy is being honest being with himself — which he tries to be more often than not, though some would disagree — he admits that he is not always an easy person. He's moody and prickly, restless and easily bored, diligent only when he thinks there's something in it for him and lazy when he doesn't like what it is he's supposed to be doing. He's vain, too self-centered, and can be cutting and dismissive if he's not in the mood to be polite and pleasant. He's also arrogant, overconfident in his ability to bullshit his way out of any situation, and far too willing to use his looks and charm to get whatever it is he wants at any particular moment.

Actually, Roy is pretty sure he's kind of a piece of shit.

But despite all his innate character flaws, he must at least once have done something right, one good thing, because somehow, in some way, the universe had broken the laws of space and time and physics to let him find Levi.

Roy still has no idea what Levi sees in him that makes him tolerate all of Roy's shit: why he put up with Roy's drinking for all those months, when that had broken up every reasonably serious relationship Roy has ever had; why he suffers through Roy's fits of depression and self-flagellation; why he lets Roy fuck away his bad moods instead of talking about his problems like an actual grown-up. Why in the name of all that is good in two worlds, he is voluntarily living with Roy.

To be fair, Levi even on his best day is nobody's idea of an easy person either. He's broody and taciturn, has more neuroses than Roy ever knew existed — what it is Levi has against dust, Roy will never understand — and he has zero respect for the chain of command; worse, he doesn't care who else knows it, not even the recruits. The circle of people he cares about is almost vanishingly small and he really, truly doesn't give a fuck what happens to anybody else.

He cares about what happens to Roy, though. For some reason Roy can't fathom, Levi cares an awful lot about Roy.

"You're making that face again," Levi says, looking up from where he is scrubbing out the fireplace. They have been in their new quarters for four days, and yet this is already the second time Levi has cleaned out the fireplace. Roy does not understand why Levi would waste his time cleaning something that is only going to get filthy again the next time it's used; fireplaces in Roy's opinion are best left in their natural state of ash-colored grunginess.

"What face?"

"The weird one."

Roy lets his expression slide into the one where he pretends to look like he's trying not to be offended. It's an art form, really, that had taken many hours in front of a mirror to perfect. "I don't have a weird one."

Levi is not impressed by Ray's fake stoicism. "You do. First you get this look like you're beating yourself up about something but then you start staring at me and your eyes get all _bedauwd."_

Roy is taken aback at the accuracy of Levi's assessment of Roy's mental state and also the unfamiliar word. "My eyes get what? Wait, _betaut_? My eyes do not get _dewy_."

"They do, though. Big and round and dewy."

Roy gapes, then shuts his mouth with a lackluster snap. "My eyes aren't round," he says feebly. Squinty-eyes, they'd called him when he was a kid, and if he's still a little sensitive about it, no one needs to know.

"They get a little round." Levi strips off his gloves and his smock and rises to his feet, lithe and graceful. He crosses the room to where Roy is sitting, then sits down on Roy's lap like it's a perfectly natural thing to do and wraps his arms around Roy's neck for balance. "You make that face a lot, actually. I think you're wondering what a piece of shit like you ever did to deserve someone so incredible as me."

Roy tries to feel indignant about the flip psychological assessment, but it's difficult with Levi straddling his thighs, especially since Levi had pegged Roy's thoughts almost exactly. Roy's hands have somehow floated down to Levi's hips when he wasn't paying attention, the double-crossers. "I am not."

"Don't bullshit me, you totally are."

"You are at most," Roy manages—he's in danger of losing his train of thought, because Levi had shifted position in his lap and Roy is quite suddenly getting hard—"half right."

Levi raises his eyebrows. "Well, I know you think you're a piece of shit, so that must mean you don't think I'm incredible." Levi's in a playful mood, which is unexpected and rare and beguiling. He shifts on Roy's lap again, slow and deliberate, and smirks when Roy swallows.

"I do think you're incredible." An incredible tease, at least; for god's sake, Levi can bring Roy's dick from zero to 60 faster than anyone Roy had ever met. It's kind of embarrassing.

"Then what's the half I'm wrong about?"

It takes Roy a minute to answer, because he's distracted by the way Levi's fingers are threading through his hair; the man is merciless. "Maybe you're 75% right."

"Hmm." Levi rocks back and forth on Roy's lap and leans forward for a quick nip at Roy's ear, tugging lightly at the earlobe with his teeth with just the right amount of pressure. Roy's dick twitches restlessly. "So what's the 25%?" Levi wheedles. "Come on, you know you're going to tell me anyway."

Back in his Academy days, Roy had taken the standard course on resisting enemy interrogation and had done quite well, scoring the second-highest in the class. But the instructors had focused on how to withstand physical and psychological torture; they'd never once discussed how to resist having 145 pounds of sex gyrating in your lap. Roy is toast.

"You're not …" Roy's breath catches and he chokes back a moan. "Um. You're only _mostly_ incredible."

"Is that right?" Levi rubs back and forth over Roy's crotch, weight low and pushing down firmly. Goddamn it, Roy's body is traitorously easy. He'd come from this alone if Levi would let him. The jury is still out on that. Levi in this kind of mood is not necessarily magnanimous.

"Yes. Fuck, Levi…"

"In a minute," Levi hums. "Tell me first." He shifts with a twist and ground down.

"Hnnh," is all Roy gets out. For a minute, he can't hear anything over the thundering of his pulse in his ears. Then he swallows enough air to manage, "You're kind of a bastard sometimes."

Levi huffs a laugh. "Only sometimes?"

Levi is leaning forward now, his forehead pressed to Roy's, and Roy is partially mollified by Levi's own unsteady breathing. At least Roy isn't the only one so affected.

"Most of the time," Roy says. Well, gasps, whatever.

"You like it, though," Levi answers, and though Roy isn't sure what the 'it' referred to — whether it's Levi's general state of being a bastard, or the way he is very specifically being a bastard right at this particular moment — either way it's true that Roy likes it.

"I don't know why you do," Levi continues, moving back and forth with intent now, his own cock now rock hard in his pants, matching Roy's. "I'm an asshole. People don't like me. People don't, but you do, and I don't … I don't …" He jerks forward once, so hard that their foreheads almost bang together, and then finally, finally he leans in and kisses Roy, hard and fast and sloppy.

Roy tightens his grip on Levi's hips and pushes up when Levi pushes down, his cock jerking wildly; he is too damn close to stop and his underwear is going to be a total loss, but Roy doesn't care because right at this minute the only thing that matters is Levi on top of him, moaning into his mouth.

Levi leans forward and angles his hips so their cocks rub together. He groans into Roy's mouth and grinds down, and "fuck," Roy says, panting, "fuck, Levi, I'm going—"

"Good," Levi says, "I want you to. I want to feel it when you lose it, come on, come for me." He rubs back and forth once, then twice, and Roy's goddamn easy body has no shame, because that's all it takes. Roy curses and shakes and his vision grays out for a moment; when he comes back to his senses he's blissed out and relaxed and his underwear is a wet sticky mess.

"Fuck," Levi says, staring down at him, eyes wide and dark. "I can't believe you're real sometimes." He leans forward and kisses Roy again, and Roy has just enough presence of mind to stick his hand down Levi's pants and grab his cock and squeeze. Levi jerks and moans and then he's coming too, hot and sticky all over Roy's hand.

So fine, maybe Roy is a piece of shit and Levi is a bastard, but when Levi is around, Roy is a less shitty piece of shit, and maybe that's enough.

* * *

Living with Roy officially is not very much different than living with Roy unofficially, but having bigger quarters turns out to be unexpectedly pleasant. Levi hadn't ever noticed feeling particularly cramped before, but the bigger bed is a definite upgrade, even if Roy still tends to sleep all over Levi. It's nice being able to stand side by side at the sink in the bathroom, and by the end of their first week, Roy has installed wall shelving for all his books and journals and papers, so they are no longer stacked up on his nightstand, which hadn't been causing Levi stress, exactly, but also hadn't _not_ been causing Levi stress.

Roy's stuff is everywhere, actually; Levi wonders how he'd never really noticed just how many possessions Roy has. All this time Levi had been thinking Roy had kept his own quarters as a kind of a bolt-hole, but now Levi thinks Roy had just been using them as an extra closet for all his crap. He has so much shit and half of it seems to be utterly useless, mostly knickknacks that can't possibly all have sentimental value: tiny porcelain figurines of creatures out of a folklore that must be completely unfamiliar to him, a carved wooden box too small to store anything worthwhile, a clay pipe, a cracked walking stick with the head of a falcon, a decorative beer stein and a pretty glazed bud vase.

Then there are the things Roy owns that are not utterly useless but still clutter up their quarters: a toy piano with only 25 keys, two hats (a felt fedora and a herringbone flat cap), four knit scarves, several ornate fountain pens, a marble chess set, half a dozen novels, a fancy shaving kit, a couple of tubs of hair pomade, three umbrellas, and a matching set of cuff links and collar studs, not to mention two dictionaries and something Roy calls a thesaurus. Levi had been astounded to learn that there are two different kind of books whose only purpose is to teach people words.

"Where did all this crap come from?" Levi asks one night when he is dusting. The beer stein and the wooden box and the figurines and the pipe and the bud vase have all taken up residence on a new side table that appeared in their living room one day sometime between the hours when Levi left in the morning and returned in the evening. The side table appears to have no purpose other than to hold these things; the table does have a small drawer but by the time Levi opened it for the first time, Roy had already stuffed it full of papers covered with arrays and other incomprehensible alchemical scribblings.

Roy is sitting at their newly refinished dining table, various pieces of paper scattered across its surface like tulip petals carpeting a wedding aisle, squinting in the inadequate light provided by the dented lamp. Since he returned to active duty full time, he's been working late every night. This is so far from his usual sloth that Levi assumes it's a deliberate attempt to exhaust himself enough that he can sleep without relying on an alcoholic nightcap.

In the midst of the paper confetti, Roy has propped one of his dictionaries up against the other. For a paperweight to hold the book open, he is using the strange colored rock he had found months ago beyond the walls. The rock is part of the clutter that had already made its way to Levi's quarters even before they'd officially moved in together. Those items — the rock, the risqué shot glass, the slightly morbid dead child's spinning top — reside with the chess set on the side table that Levi had brought from his old quarters. That table has a cabinet underneath it where Levi used to store a set of coasters and four old cloth napkins, frayed but still useable. The coasters have made their way to a drawer in the kitchen and the napkins are with the other linens. Levi isn't sure what's inside the cabinet now. Probably more of Roy's crap.

At the moment, Roy is writing furiously, scratching notes on a notepad with his right hand while flipping through a many-paged document with his left. He has a smudge of ink just below his ear. Levi is very tempted to go over and wipe it off, but distracting Roy now would only keep him working later in the night and Levi has recently made a mission of getting Roy to bed at something resembling a reasonable hour.

Roy doesn't answer Levi, so Levi continues dusting. A few minutes later, though, Levi's question seems to finally penetrate the fog in Roy's head, though perhaps it is not the question itself, but the mere fact that a question has been asked. Roy looks up, blinking red and tired eyes. He is still exceedingly resistant to the idea of wearing glasses unless he is using the gear, even though he has a perfectly good pair and _not_ wearing them gives him a headache. Levi has never met anyone else quite so stubborn. Moblit claims it is one of the reasons they are so perfect for each other. "Hmm? What?"

Levi resists the urge to laugh. "Just asked where all this crap came from." Levi is now dusting the bud vase, which is painted with lilies twined around each other in exquisite, delicate perfection.

"Oh." Roy blinks again, puts his pen down, and rubs his eyes with ink-stained hands. Now he has ink at the corner of his right eye, a pale blue smear running down to the top of his cheekbone. The urge to clean his face increases exponentially.

Roy looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Levi can see his eyes land on each item: the vase in Levi's hand; the beer stein that is next up for dusting; the cracked walking stick resting against the door frame, one beady falcon eye assessing the room predatorily. Roy flushes slightly, making the edges of the ink smear on his face tinge purple. "Sorry," he says. "I am always collecting things. _Müll_ , Riza says." He pauses. "Junk, yes?" He has the grace to look somewhat abashed. "She takes it away from my office. And sometimes she comes to my house and takes the junk away from there too."

Levi feels a flare of familiar stupid jealousy, but it's tempered by his amusement at the pout on Roy's ink-stained face. "So I should just throw some of this away?"

"No!" Roy now looks alarmed. "No, no, I like to have it here. But perhaps"—he looks around again, eyes skipping from the chess set to the shot glass to a pair of porcelain golems—"perhaps not so much out all at the same times. Time. I can put some away in a box under the bed."

He looks a little gloomy at the thought of storing his things away. Maybe burying himself in trinkets and books is how he has anchored himself in this strange world. Honestly, Levi doesn't really mind the clutter so long as everything has a place and doesn't get in the way. Levi finds the mindless monotony of dusting soothing anyway. "It's all right," Levi says, carefully setting down the vase and picking up the beer stein, which is cast from heavy pewter and is decorated with a cartoonish drawing of a town that might be Trost. Looking closely, the people lining the street are revealed to be dogs dressed as people; Levi doesn't understand why anyone would want to paint a beer stein with pictures of dogs in trousers and dresses — one is even carrying a little parasol — but Roy finds it amusing, and it is less inappropriate than the shot glass.

"I was just wondering where you got them," Levi says. "But you don't have to put any of it away. I like most of your things. And you like them, which is more important."

Roy brightens. Levi feels a surge of affection, that Roy can sometimes be so easily pleased, and also a burst of pride that he has made Roy happy, no matter how easily it was accomplished.

"You are too good to me," Roy says. "Riza wouldn't approve."

 _It's a good thing she's not here, then,_ Levi thinks but knows better than to say. Instead, he finishes with the beer stein, replaces it on the end table, and crosses the room to invade Roy's paper fortress. "You've got ink," he says, running his fingers across Roy's temple and cheek, "here and here. You should clean it off."

Roy looks Levi, then at the papers spread all over the table, then back at Levi. "You're trying to distract me."

"I'm trying to get you to clean your face," Levi says. "It's dirty and it's driving me crazy."

"If I get up to clean it, do you promise to let me sit back down and finish my work?"

"… no."

Roy's gaze flits again from Levi to the papers and back to Levi. Levi stands impassively, though he might be tilting his head at the angle he knows calls attention to the precise portion of his neck that Roy is obsessed with, and maybe the breath he draws in is a little slower and rougher than it needs to be, and perhaps his hand flutters down innocently to hook into the waistband of his trousers.

Levi is not above resorting to shameless manipulation.

After a silent moment, Roy swallows, then very carefully places his pen down on his notepad. "If my report is late," he says, rising to his feet and stretching in a manner so pornographic that it ought to be outlawed, "I will tell Erwin it is your fault."

"Worth the risk," Levi says, and drags Roy off to the bathroom and then to bed.

This pattern continues — Roy working hard and often late into the night; Levi cajoling him into bed — for another few months. They go on several missions and kill a lot of Titans. Roy doesn't flinch anymore when people drop Pinzer's name in his vicinity, although at night home alone with Levi, he still has his bad moments and sometimes they are _very_ bad. But mostly, he is doing well, and if he is not stronger for surviving his ordeal, Levi thinks Roy is at least no weaker.

Since they moved into their quarters, they have taken to having friends over for dinner once a week. Mostly this is Moblit's idea, but Roy has been enthusiastically willing and usually prepares the meal. He is not a great chef, but he is better than Levi and he enjoys cooking; in any event, with the ingredients available to them, being a great chef is not truly possible.

Roy's meals often feature cheese and potatoes. Now that he is no longer on Jansen's medicines, Roy can tolerate cheese again, and he goes through it as though he is making up for lost time. He has found more cheese shops in town than Levi knew existed, and his latest discovery is some peculiar smelly goat cheese soaked in wine, streaks of violet running reckless and wild through the curd.

Potatoes Roy includes because they are plentiful and cheap, and his fancy cheese is stupidly expensive. Also, he seems to honestly love potatoes in almost any preparation, but especially baked in the oven at low heat for hours, until the skin is crinkly and the inside is as soft as the downiest feather pillow.

Tonight, he has prepared baked potatoes slathered with sweet honeyed beans, carrots slow roasted for so long they have caramelized, and of course everyone has an individual plate of cheese: a piece each of the smelly wine-cheese, the soft mild white cheese, the stinky cheese with the holes and the pale white tangy cheese that Roy knows Levi prefers. All of these cheeses have names, but Levi has given up trying to keep them straight.

Mike and Lotte are here and so the conversation keeps returning to music. Levi feels a little lost most of the time; it turns out Mike's knowledge of musical theory is extensive and Lotte has traveled widely within the walls and is familiar with the particular musical styles of many small communities, which seem to vary far more than Levi would ever have guessed, had he ever spent any time thinking about it.

After they have finished eating and cleared their plates, they decide to wait for a little while before dessert: small fruit pastries Lotte brought from Opa's. They are sipping lazily at small glasses of digestif, fragrant and bitter. This is Roy's first alcoholic drink in a week, and he seems to be savoring it, happy to have it but not desperate for more. Not that there is any more than they have poured out. The bottle was obviously meant for one or two, and they have split it among the four of them.

Mike is rambling on about some musical composition he's been working on, and Roy's listening intently, concentrating hard, like he sometimes still has to when people speak too quickly. All of a sudden, he jerks like someone just hit him and stares wildly around the room. Mike rambles on, oblivious, but Levi puts his hand on Roy's arm and pitches his voice low. "You all right?"

It takes a minute for Roy to answer. He's staring at the windows, eyes wide and unfocused, but all there is to see in the glass is the reflection of the room. After a few seconds, Roy blinks and shakes his head. "Yes. Sorry. I'm okay."

Roy's been twitchy all week, but whenever Levi asks what's wrong, Roy says it's nothing. This is the worst instance Levi's seen, though, and it makes him uneasy.

"I'm going to get the dessert," Levi says abruptly, interrupting Mike's monologue. "Roy, help me with the tea?"

Roy nods, still distracted. He follows Levi into the kitchen and starts pouring the water, frowning when he tests it with his pinky and it is not hot enough. He pulls his gloves from his pocket and sets the tea steaming with a quick burst of flame. Roy then busies himself with the strainer while Levi carefully removes the pastries from the box, washing the sugared icing off his fingers when he's done.

"What was that?" Levi asks. He fishes a small knife out of the drawer to cut the pastries into smaller portions. Lotte has over-purchased as usual: there is one each of cherry, raspberry, apple, prune and pear, and each pastry is easily big enough for two people, perhaps even three. "And don't tell me it was nothing."

Roy frowns as he carefully pours out four cups of tea. He freshens the leaves and sets another pot to steep on the stove. He seems reluctant to answer, and finally says, grudgingly, "I … felt something."

The minimal statement is apparently all Roy feels it necessary to say. He fills a bowl with misshapen lumps of sugar, meticulously chosen to be the perfect size for Levi's small tongs.

Levi can be patient and stubborn, a rather deadly combination. "Felt what?"

Another three lumps go into the bowl before Roy says, "I don't know. Something strange. You didn't feel anything?"

Levi tries to remember if there had been anything out of the ordinary at all, but there was nothing. Just Mike babbling on about music, which at this point isn't anything unusual in their quarters. He can't even imagine what he might feel, rather than see or hear. "No. What do you think it was?"

"Nothing, probably," Roy says, though he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

"Roy."

"It was nothing," Roy dismisses. "Let me arrange the pastries. You always put them all in order and it's boring."

Levi stares at him for a minute, wondering if he should press harder, but Roy's tone is sliding towards irritable and the last thing Levi wants to do now is get into a fight. They had enough of those when Roy was convalescing, and Levi is still feeling a little bruised and skittish. Roy can hurt him without even trying with a careless word or through a thoughtless action; when he is trying, Roy can hurt him much worse. It's no different than the way Levi can hurt Roy, and that is apparently the price of loving someone. But Roy is surprisingly good at finding Levi's tender spots, though maybe the surprising thing isn't so much that Roy can find them, but that Levi has so many.

Roy is firmly pretending he doesn't know he's being stared at. All his attention is directed towards dessert. Levi has sensibly grouped each pastry variety together, all the apple pieces together and separate from the pear, but apparently this offends Roy's sensibilities. He is carefully rearranging the neatly sectioned pastries on the serving platter, alternating fillings by color. He's more concerned with aesthetics than practicality and so the yellows and reds get all mixed up. Levi likes apple but hates peach, loves raspberry but hates cherry somewhat on principle because it's Erwin's favorite, and resolves to take a prune, which can't possibly be mistaken for anything else.

"Good?" Roy says, finally looking up when the pastries have been hopelessly but prettily distributed.

"Good," Levi agrees. He follows Roy back to the living room where Mike is, incredibly, still going on about his fucking song, but Mike's now graduated to writing bits of music down in some incomprehensible notation. Incomprehensible to Levi, at any rate. He never learned to read music and isn't motivated to learn, even now that it has become such a big part of Roy's life and Levi's by extension.

Lotte is leaning over Mike's shoulder studying the scrap paper intently. It looks like they grabbed one of Roy's discarded draft reports from the trash bin and have been scribbling on the back with one of Roy's decorative fountain pens. Roy sets the tray of tea and pastries on the table and then becomes immediately and deeply engrossed in the conversation, which might be about harmonizing a particularly tricky bit or might be about something else altogether. Levi can't tell and really doesn't care.

Levi's participation is not required and his presence is barely noted; he eats two pieces of prune pastry while Roy, Mike and Lotte dither about chords and dominants and inversions, whatever those things mean. The tea gets drunk while the pastry slowly disappears piece by piece. Levi is the only one who seems to have a flavor or color preference. When Lotte's fiddle and Mike's trumpet appear and Roy brings over the toy piano, Levi knows he has become entirely superfluous. He escapes to the kitchen and spends a quiet, pleasant half hour by himself washing and drying all the dishes and pots to the backdrop of quiet laughter and wisps of music.

It's kind of perfect, actually.

Levi never thought he'd have perfect. Levi never even thought he'd have anything good.

"You're sure you're all right?" he whispers to Roy an hour later in the dark of their bedroom, sweat pooling in all the small hollows along his back, heart returning to a normal rhythm.

"I'm fine," Roy mumbles back. He is deep in a post-orgasmic haze, half asleep and draped over Levi like a blanket. His heart beats a slow and steady drumbeat against Levi's chest. " 'm fine, Levi, don't worry."

Not worrying isn't something Levi is particularly good at. But he'll try.

* * *

Somehow when Roy wasn't looking, he seems to have gotten a promotion, or whatever the equivalent is for someone who doesn't, so far as he knows, have an actual rank. Whatever the official explanation, Roy has been granted a small increase in salary that is just enough to pay for his cheese habit. Unfortunately, he has also been granted a lot more work. The renovation of the administrative building is close to finished and people have already moved in to the first two floors, including Roy, who has a big new office with big bright windows and a big wooden desk and room for three staff. Because he has three staff now, all of a sudden. Three staff, three more projects to manage, and a folder full of paperwork to go through every day. Hannah helps him with the paperwork, and though she's no Riza, she's almost as efficient in this particular regard. She sorts all the papers for him and puts them into piles: urgent, important, routine, and rubber stamp. Naturally, the urgent pile is always the largest, and so much of what Roy has to read is written in a tiny cramped print that in the afternoons, when the sun is starting to set and the lamps don't provide quite enough light, Roy puts on his glasses. Roy has sworn Hannah and Gerrit and Pieter to secrecy about this daily event; Levi is not to know.

Gerrit is 23 and his entire family is dead, save for a younger sister who lives in town and works at the tavern where Roy plays piano with Mike and the others. Gerrit's sister Famke is 19 and quite pretty, but distant. Their parents died when Wall Maria fell, eaten by Titans, and Famke too had been taken by a Titan. A Garrison officer killed it before it could eat her, but when the Titan fell, Famke had plunged ten meters from its mouth to the cobblestone street. Her leg had shattered on impact and never healed properly; now she walks with a limp. Gerrit joined the Corps as soon he could and gives all his salary to Famke. He is smart and diligent; Roy has him sorting out all the requisitions for office furnishings.

Pieter is five years older than Gerrit and thus about five years younger than Roy. He reminds Roy of Heymans Breda: he is big and stout and stolid, and he is far keener than he looks. He has a knack for negotiation, so Roy often sends him off to deal with the construction foremen, who are hired from outside the military and seem to think it their civic duty to try to rip off the Corps at every opportunity. It's hard to rip off Pieter when he is glaring down from his 195 cm. When Pieter is in the office, he likes to sit at his desk with his back to the window poring over contracts, the sun highlighting a few wild auburn streaks in his hair and his heavy, bright red sideburns.

Pieter is sitting at his desk now. He was outside all morning and his nose is dusty pink with sunburn. He grunts and circles something on the contract he is reviewing, frowning furiously. Someone has probably tried to overcharge them again. Gerrit looks up from his desk, which is a disaster of paper, mounds and mounds of it, and asks Pieter if everything is all right. Pieter responds that it is, it's just the carpenter wanting to charge them double what he should. Gerrit nods perfunctorily and returns to his own work.

"Sir," Hannah says at Roy's shoulder. She has just finished sorting an enormous stack of paperwork that Erwin's aide had delivered in the morning. "I'm sorry, sir, but Commander Smith said he needs you to review this report today."

The report in question is 12 — no, 13 — pages long, accompanied by an itemized appendix nearly that long in length. Roy sighs and rubs his eyes. He doesn't think he's particularly well-suited for an office job; he wonders how is it that he has happened to end up in much the same role here as he had in Amestris, doing endless paperwork. What devil invented paperwork anyway? How long was it after paper was invented that paperwork came along? Sometimes Roy suspects paper was invented for precisely this purpose. He rubs at his eyes some more as if that will help.

Hannah tactfully slides Roy's glasses across the desk without saying a word. Roy keeps this second pair in the office. They are less like the goggles he wears when he uses the gear and more like what Roy is used to from home; the kind that Maes had, the kind that Fuery had … still has, presumably. The frame is plain and practical: sturdy wood, dyed black, in a fashionable rectangular shape and rimless along the top. He has been told they're very flattering and he might even admit that they are if he didn't hate them so much.

Roy glances out the window to check how late it is.

"It's almost 17:00," Hannah says reassuringly, this being Roy's self-imposed and utterly arbitrary deadline for when it is acceptable to yield to his blurry vision. She inches the glasses a little closer to him. "If you start on the report now, you might still be able to meet Captain Levi for dinner at 19:30 like you planned." She pauses. "I believe it's his turn to cook, sir, but you're supposed to bring some bread home. I took the liberty of bringing back a loaf from the mess hall at lunch."

From a drawer in her own immaculate desk, she retrieves a paper bag containing a rye loaf, dark and seeded liberally with caraway. Levi's favorite bread is savory pumpernickel, but it's hard to get and rye comes a close second. Roy knew he was supposed to be home for dinner with Levi tonight, but he had completely forgotten he was supposed to bring bread. "Thank you, Hannah," Roy says, and when she points at the glasses again, he dons them without complaint. How does he find these people to support him, Roy wonders? He would have been lost without Riza in Amestris; he would be lost without Hannah now.

He finishes the report he had been working on. Reading goes faster now that the print is clear, though he will never admit that to anyone. Once he has signed it, he switches over to the new report. It's now nearly 17:30 and so he has just about two hours to wade through 25 pages of Suuske's painstaking observations on necessities for the recruit dormitories in preparation for their renovation: project #2.

Two hours is probably not enough time to do as thorough a review as he ought to, but that is not an excuse to cut it short and do a shitty job; if he cannot finish the report before dinner, he'll just have to finish it after, even if Levi will roll his eyes when he sees Roy has brought work home again. Roy sympathizes; he also wishes he didn't have to work so much, but he is only lazy when time permits. Erwin seems to have figured out that he can circumvent Roy's inherent sloth by assigning Roy more work than is feasible for one man to complete. Tonight, Roy can at least alleviate the situation by getting through as much of this report as possible before he leaves; Hannah has not indicated that any of the other outstanding reports cannot wait until tomorrow.

He flips the dormitory report open and starts reading, jotting down notes in the margin, checking the dictionary when he needs to, which happens less often the more familiar he becomes with the Corps' particular style of jargon. Hannah returns to her desk to continue signing his name to the unimportant reports, or perhaps to summarize the routine ones to spare him from having to read those in their entirely. Pieter and Gerrit work quietly, Gerrit chewing on the back of his pen when he is not writing with it, Pieter muttering irritably when he finds more evidence of price-gouging. The atmosphere is pleasantly companionable, almost too much so. Roy is bothered by it sometimes, how quickly he has settled into this life, how quickly being here has become normal and routine, how infrequently now he thinks about going home.

In the next instant, every hair on Roy's body stands on end as a strange surge of something pulses through the room. It's here and gone so quickly that it's over almost before it's started. Roy doesn't twitch or flinch or react in any way.

"Sir?" Hannah says, looking up from her desk and staring at him in concern. Pieter and Gerrit stop what they are doing and look at him too, Gerrit with his pen dangling from the corner of his mouth.

Perhaps Roy has twitched or flinched or reacted in some way after all. "I'm fine," he says dismissively. He looks down at his report but can still feel the stares from his too-perceptive staff. He glances up at them from under his hair, which is getting too long. He's going to need to go to the barber in town this weekend for a haircut. He no longer trusts Levi to cut his hair after the last shear disaster. "I'm fine, Hannah. Really."

"It happened again, didn't it," Gerrit says. He's taken the pen out of his mouth and is now tapping it against the mound of papers closest to his right hand. It is a miracle he can ever find anything at all on his desk. Roy has never met anyone so disorganized. Not even Jean Havoc, who is a complete slob. Roy is messy but he always knows where everything is, and furthermore he keeps his mess confined to his living space.

"No. Nothing happened," Roy says. He tries to inject authority and forcefulness into his voice. From the dubious looks the other three exchange, he has utterly failed.

" _I_ think you should see Dr. Jansen," Pieter says with an inflection to indicate how little he expects Roy to take him up on his eminently sensible suggestion.

Roy would be quite content never to have to see Dr. Jansen again. "I don't need a doctor," he says firmly. "There's nothing wrong with me. Get back to work."

In truth, Roy is not entirely convinced there's nothing wrong with him. The first few times he felt the strange … pulses, he supposes, for lack of a better word … they were so faint and distant that they hardly registered. Then for about a week they became quite severe. It was one of those that had set him off the night Mike and Lotte were over for dinner. Since then, the, well, the 'attacks,' he supposes, have decreased in frequency and intensity; Roy has no idea what they are, only that no one else seems to feel or sense anything out of the ordinary. He is half convinced he is imagining the episodes altogether, meaning he is also half convinced that he is not — but if they are real, he has no idea whether the sensation is emanating from outside his body or within it; he is more than a little terrified that this a symptom of some residual damage from what Truth did to him.

His staff is staring at him reproachfully. "Back to work," Roy insists, making it an order through his tone of voice. With a dubious shared glance suggesting their boss is an idiot, Hannah and Pieter and Gerrit do as they're told, and that is the end of that.

By the time Roy gets back for dinner it's 19:45. He's a little bit late, but he's only got nine pages of the appendix left to get through later, so it was worth it. He's almost forgotten all about the episode, so that when Levi asks him how his day was, he can say "fine" without lying.

Roy doesn't lie to Levi but keeping secrets doesn't quite count, not if Levi doesn't ask and the secret is a small, harmless one. Roy has spent his life keeping secrets. At first, they were the little things that all kids like to keep to themselves: at seven his first secret crush on a friend in his class, at nine when he'd found a peephole into one of the upstairs rooms in the bar, at 11 the time he'd gotten detention after punching a boy in school who'd called Roy a squinty-eyed son of a Xingese whore. As he got older, the secrets got a little bigger: at 15 when he'd started having sex for real and figured out he liked it just as much with boys as girls, at 16 when he'd suffered through a mercifully brief phase of cutting himself, at 17 when he'd made the impulsive decision to join the military despite Aunt Chris's violent loathing of everything to do with it.

Keeping all those little secrets was just practice for what he'd have to hide later: flame alchemy and Ishval and the Promised Day. He's never had any trouble keeping any of his secrets, not the early little ones or the later much bigger ones, so keeping this secret, this tiny little one, is no problem at all.

Except that it's Levi, and keeping secrets from Levi feels a little bit like lying to him, and Roy doesn't lie to Levi.

But Roy has only just pasted himself back together, and some days he still doubts that he's actually managed it so much as gotten very good at pretending he has. He doesn't want to see Levi looking at him like he's in need of caretaking again. Levi's sacrificed so much time and energy for Roy; Roy doesn't want him to give up anything more on Roy's account.

Roy doesn't lie to Levi, but not volunteering unimportant information doesn't count.

"You remembered the bread," Levi says when Roy walks in the door.

"Hannah remembered the bread."

Levi makes a noise that is a complicated mixture of approval and disgust, and reaches his hand out fo the bread bag. "She spoils you."

Roy can't exactly disagree. He hands the bread over, toes off his shoes, and drops the file with the unfinished report on the dining table, where Levi eyes it with irritation. Roy shrugs off his uniform jacket and drapes it over a chair, because he knows his failure to hang up the jacket will annoy Levi to the point where he will temporarily forget about the work Roy has to do later, then heads into the bathroom to wash his hands.

Hands scrubbed, he makes his way to the kitchen where Levi has already set the small dinette for supper. They are still using the same set of mismatched plates Levi owned when Roy had arrived. Roy remembers that first breakfast together: toast scraped with salted butter, eggs that Roy had scrambled in Levi's battered old tin pan and Roy's first taste of the tangy cheese that Levi still favors despite Roy's attempts to expand his palate. They have an extra set of plates now for when guests come, a service for four that Moblit unearthed on one of his habitual trips to the second-hand stores in town: thin delicate china worn around the edges and faded in spots but still lovely and elegant. The pattern reminds Roy of Levi's treasured tea cups, and he thinks maybe that's why Levi accepted the plates from Moblit.

Levi has procured meat somehow, but not very much and it is old and tough so they are having stew that has simmered on the stove all day. Everyone eats a lot of stew here, mostly vegetables. Roy doesn't mind vegetable stew, but the few chunks of meat mixed in with the carrots and potatoes makes the broth richer and the meal more satisfying. They eat all the stew and half the loaf of bread between them, and while they eat, Levi tells Roy about his day, which seems to have involved a lot of cursing at Erwin for some unspecified transgression. Roy wonders if the last-minute urgent report that crossed his desk is some form of payback, then decides that is too subtle a tactic for Erwin.

Roy pours himself a glass of wine to accompany the dinner, but it is only a single glass, and he locks the bottle away in a cabinet as soon as he is finished pouring. He's slowly reintroduced alcohol into his routine, but he's very careful about how much he drinks and how often. Having gone almost entirely without alcohol for a month, Roy's grateful for the soothing effects of a drink every now and then, but he tries to keep it to only three nights a week and never more than a glass at a time. He doesn't want to fall back into bad patterns, but he also doesn't want to get so desperate he resorts to making alcohol out of tea again. Having done it once, he's afraid that the next time he'll do it even better, and that feels entirely too dangerous a skill to have at his disposal.

Levi doesn't comment on the wine, but Roy knows Levi keeps a close eye on Roy's consumption of it. To his surprise, being watched doesn't make Roy resentful. He thinks he enjoys having someone paying that attention that closely. Like Maes used to, but with less nagging.

When they're done eating, Roy helps clear the table and then Levi shoos him out. "You have an hour to work," Levi says sternly, pulling on a pair of big yellow gloves and retrieving an industrial-sized bar of soap from under the sink. "Then I'm going to take the fucking report to fucking Erwin myself and tell him to shove it up his fucking ass."

"I don't think Erwin's ass gets involved in his fucking," Roy says mildly. From his position at the table in the living room, he can see little bits of Levi where he's standing at the sink: the back of his head, the sharp edge of his shoulder blades, and a hint of his ass. It's just enough of a view to be distracting.

Levi makes a loud gagging noise from the kitchen. "I've told you before not to make me think about Erwin having sex."

"You're the one who bought up his fucking ass."

"Fuck you," Levi says automatically. His elbows dart in and out of Roy's field of vision as he starts scrubbing out the stew pot. Back and forth, back and forth, pumping vigorously. Roy's mind goes to some dirty places before he wrests back control of his thoughts.

"Later, darling," Roy answers sweetly, and gets to work.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy is mostly better, but not all better, right? Not very pleased with himself but coping. Better by the end of the chapter than he is at the beginning. He still has his bad moments.
> 
> Heads up: I broke this chapter here because this one and the next really ought to have been one humongous chapter, but I didn't want to post a 13K or 14K words chapter. So when I post the next one, if it feels like a continuation of this one, that's because it is.
> 
> Art: Happy with this one because I was able to find exactly the images I wanted and now I have Roy working while Levi's cleaning and I love it.
> 
> Thanks: as always to SapphireMusings for betaing! Though she didn't give me a title and I totally needed one.
> 
> Comments: pretty please! I love to hear from you!


	22. Fits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Here we go! Last big arc starting in three ... two ... one! (Well, first there's a little bit of fluff. But then the plotty arc picks up.)
> 
> Roy:  
> The point is, Levi never went to school and he doesn't understand the student/teacher dynamic very well and he is not actually _trying_ to drive Roy crazy. Levi is uneducated but not unintelligent. If Levi can't learn from Roy, the fault almost certainly lies with Roy.
> 
> Levi:  
> Levi replaces his pen in the ink well and joins Roy on the couch, pushing his long legs out of the way. On any other evening, Levi might have put his head down in Roy's lap, but tonight he simply sits down next to him, fitting himself in the curve of Roy's arm where it rests along the top of the sofa. Roy smells vaguely of whiskey and more strongly of mint: he must have brushed his teeth when he went to the bathroom. "You think someone else here is doing alchemy?"

Roy is not gritting his teeth. He is _not_.

Levi never went to school. He never sat in a classroom; he never had a teacher who gave him lollipops for doing well or rapped his knuckles when he did worse than he ought. He never stood up in front of a classroom with a pounding heart and a shaky hand scratching out his answers to math problems on the chalkboard; he never got sent to the headmaster for speaking out of turn; he never had to sit at a small wooden desk with sharpened pencils and a thrumming sense of anxiety as the teacher handed out exam papers, and he never felt that special sense of pride at occasionally scoring the best in the class.

All of those experiences are totally foreign to Levi. Roy isn't even sure how Levi learned to read at all, but guesses it was because Kenny thought literacy was a necessary mercenary skill. Even if so, Roy doubts Levi got hugs and praise and warm cocoa with a splash of Kenny's finest whiskey for learning his alphabet or sounding out the hard words in _The Golden Goose._ Roy doubts Levi has ever read any fairy tales at all. If Kenny was the one who had taught Levi to read, it had probably been with blackmail notes and death threats.

Of course, it might not have been Kenny. From the little Levi has shared, Kenny seems to have hardly considered it necessary to keep Levi fed or clothed. Mostly what he seems to have taught Levi was violence: how to inflict it; how to take it. Maybe Levi had taught himself to read sometime after Kenny had walked out of his life as abruptly as he'd walked into it. Maybe between all the scrounging and scratching and struggling to survive, Levi had managed to learn his letters on his own from scraps of the newspapers he'd used for bedding, hunkered down in the dark corners of filthy Underground alleys.

Or maybe Levi had learned even later, from Farlan. Farlan had been smart. _Too smart for the Underground_ , Levi had said one night when they'd been trading stories, and Roy had admitted how he'd threatened and tricked and cajoled two damaged, orphaned, brilliant little boys into becoming military dogs. Farlan definitely could have taught Levi to read. He'd have been kind and funny about it, probably, and he'd have tolerated all of Levi's questions with good grace and an even temper, because not only was he smart and handsome, he was good-natured too.

Roy wrests his thoughts away from pointless jealousy with a forceful mental wrench. The point is, Levi never went to school and he doesn't understand the student/teacher dynamic very well and he is not actually _trying_ to drive Roy crazy. Levi is uneducated but not unintelligent. If Levi can't learn from Roy, the fault almost certainly lies with Roy.

"I've already explained this," Roy says as patiently as he can. _Three times._

"I don't get it," Levi says flatly. "Why do you need so many different words for _the_?" He pushes his paper across the table irritably. The paper is filled with Levi's neat, competent hand, each letter precisely formed and perfectly legible, so different from the reckless messy scrawl with which Roy had marked all the many corrections. At least Roy had been considerate and used black ink to mark the errors instead of red. Red had always seemed especially vindictive to Roy as a child — seeing his stupid mistakes was punishment enough; he didn't need to be yelled at in red ink for them.

Roy rubs at his forehead but stops as soon as he catches himself at it, because the last thing he wants is to appear frustrated with Levi. Or worse, like he has a headache and needs his glasses. And he certainly doesn't want to look like he's having another attack, the existence of which he's mostly kept hidden from Levi except for the one Levi had actually seen. "You shouldn't ask why when you learn a language," he says. "There isn't always a reason." _Aller anfang ist schwer_ , he tells himself. All beginnings are hard.

Levi tsks in disgust. The afternoon sunlight highlights the divot at the corner of his frown. "It's stupid."

"It's not—" Roy takes a deep breath. If they are having this much trouble with articles, he can't even imagine how Levi is going to react to cases or, god forbid, the subjunctive. "Languages aren’t stupid or smart." Roy keeps his voice firm but kind. He hopes. "They just _are_."

Levi looks unimpressed. "This one's stupid. You know how we say 'the' here? The."

Roy seizes on the opportunity to prove his point. "But it's not always the same! Sometimes it's _de_. Sometimes it's _het_."

"It's almost always _de._ You've got"—Levi looks down at the chart Roy had prepared—"sixteen different words for 'the.' " He taps the paper for emphasis. " _Sixteen_."

"Really only six," Roy says, filled with some compulsion to defend his native tongue, which is ridiculous because he knows Amestrian is objectively more complex than many other languages. "They're used more than once." He points. "See, you use _die_ for feminine and plural nouns."

Apparently, this makes little difference. Levi taps his finger on the chart again, which has sixteen boxes organized by case and gender and also showing the plural. He taps each box in turn, slowly and deliberately, like his finger is a metronome. "I'm just going to use _der_ ," he says, when he has tapped every box, as if that alone is sufficient to win the argument.

"You _can't_ just use _der._ " Roy is baffled that they are even having this argument because … because a language is how it is whether you like it or not. You can't argue about how to speak it; you're either speaking it right or you're speaking it wrong. Levi is the first person Roy has ever attempted to teach any language and Roy's not going to let him go around flubbing something as basic as _the_ when Roy has worked so hard to learn the finer points of Levi's language's word order and vocabulary and has an entire notebook devoted to idioms.

Levi just stares at him flatly, as if to say _the hell I can't_ , and then pushes himself up and out of his chair and heads to the kitchen. He emerges a few moments later with a tray holding a teapot, two clay mugs and a leftover brownie Roy had begged off of Nadia in the mess hall last night. This is either a peace offering or a blatant attempt at bribery.

Bribery, Roy concludes after his first sip of the tea. It's the juniper blend that Roy loves, not the strong, plain black tea that is Levi's favorite. Well, Roy is not above being bribed, especially with a brownie, even one that he obtained himself. "We can come back to articles," he concedes.

"Good." Levi takes a sip of tea and grimaces slightly, probably unconsciously, at the taste. "You'll understand me anyway," he says, "even if I get it wrong sometimes."

That is true. Roy will understand Levi fine even if he gets the article wrong every time. The Drachmans are utterly hopeless at them and so are the Xingese, which makes sense since neither language has any articles at all. And yet, Drachman and Xingese immigrants manage to make themselves understood well enough even when they forget the articles altogether, which happens more often than not. Perhaps Roy is being irrational by insisting on precision; it's not like Levi is ever going to need to speak Amestrian to anyone other than Roy.

"My mother wasn't a native speaker," Roy finds himself saying, breaking off a corner of a brownie to check for nuts. Roy has almost no memories of his mother, but he does remember the soft musical air to her speech, remembers hearing her for years after her death in every lilting Xingese voice he passed by in the street. It'd been disorienting as a child; became poignant as he grew. "I don't know how well she spoke. I guess well enough for my father to understand her."

Levi sips at his tea again. Grimaces again. "Did you learn … um. Shangian?"

"Xingese," Roy says. "Not from her. She didn't speak it at home, I think. Only Amestrian." He picks off another piece of brownie, rolls it between his fingers to find it safely free from nuts. They don't ever put nuts in brownies here, but Roy continues to check every time.

"But you learned it eventually?"

"Yes, but not until much later. When I was a boy, I didn't know any other people who weren't full Amestrian. I didn't like it, to look different from everyone. Some of the times the other children would, _ahm,_ wait … yes, it's tease. They would tease me. For my eyes and my skin, you understand? Aunt Chris would always tell me to not listen to them but I thought that was easy to say and not so easy to do." He shrugs. "I don't think anyone would ever tease her in her whole life. If you meet her, you'll know why."

Levi nods and doesn't comment on the unlikelihood of his ever meeting Chris Mustang.

"So," Roy continues, "I didn't want to speak Xingese when I was young. I wanted only to be like everyone else. When I was a little older, I learned Aerugian because I liked the way it sounded and because they have many nice …" Roy pauses. He has no idea what the word for beaches is and isn't even sure if they have that concept here. Armin believes there is an ocean somewhere past the walls, but Roy suspects everyone else is just humoring him, although they have the word 'sea' so there must be an ocean somewhere; on the other hand, they also have the word 'alchemy' and Roy's seen no evidence of that anywhere. "… places to go," he finishes lamely. "The south of Aerugo is very warm and sunny, and you can lie all day on the _sand_ "—which may also be a concept they don't have here, but Levi doesn't blink at the word so maybe they do—"and just _entspannen."_

" _Ontspan_ ," Levi says.

"Relax," Roy repeats. "And then I learned Drachman because everyone says it is the hardest. I liked the, the _herausforderung_." Levi waits a moment and shakes his head, so there is no cognate for 'challenge.' "It was something difficult to do. I had to try hard. Like learning the ODM gear, but without the vomiting." Roy grins, but Levi only makes a disgusted face at him. "Also, we're always fighting the Drachmans, so I thought it was good to know how they speak. Ishvalan I learned when I was there. That's the best way, you know. Not to be there to fight a war, but to be where everyone around you speaks the language."

"Like when you came here," Levi says. He's given up on his juniper tea, but takes a corner of the brownie for himself. Just a small piece because he knows Roy doesn't like eating alone but he also knows how much Roy loves brownies.

"Like when I came here," Roy agrees. "I learned to speak your language fastest of them all. Although it helps that it's so close to Amestrian."

Levi looks skeptical, glancing over at the piece of paper Roy marked up. He had not done very well on his assignment. "Not as close as you always make it seem."

"It's very much the same," Roy says. "Xingese was as different to Amestrian as apples to pears."

"Apples and pears aren't very different," Levi says after a moment.

Okay, now Roy _is_ gritting his teeth. "They are not at all alike."

"They're really kind of the same," Levi says.

When Roy stops to consider it, he supposes that apples and pears aren't very different at all, but it's an idiom; it doesn't have to make sense! The best ones never do. "Well, to compare apples and pears is to compare two things that are very different," Roy sulks.

"I know what it means. We say the same thing. It's just that when you think about it, apples and pears aren't really all that different." Levi reaches over for Roy's hand and runs his fingers over the back softly. The markings from where Roy had scratched the array are long gone, but the scars from Bradley's swords are as big and lumpy as ever. "Sorry," Levi says. "Tell me about learning Shangese. Xingese, I mean."

Levi's fingertips are warm from gripping the mug of tea he doesn't really want to drink. Roy likes the way Levi's skin feels on Roy's, even if half the nerves in his hand are mostly dead. The other half can feel Levi's touch and that's enough to loosen something tight in Roy's chest. "It's very different," Roy says. "The, the words are short and the tone is very important. That's if the word goes up or down when you say it, you understand? And the sounds they use are not the same as we do, and of course they don't have an alphabet so you have to learn all the symbols one by one, and—"

"—What do you mean, they don't have an alphabet?"

"They don't have an alphabet. They have symbols. Little pictures. One for each word. You wouldn't be complaining about 16 words for _the_ if you were trying to learn to read Xingese. You would need to know thousands of symbols."

Levi stares at him hard as if he suspects Roy is joking. He has still not quite forgiven Roy for fooling him about Mike and Lotte when they were examining these quarters for the first time. "You learned thousands of symbols?"

"No," Roy admits. "It was hard enough to learn to speak. And I didn't learn it very well, in the end. I think my mother would be embarrassed."

Levi scoffs. "She'd be happy you tried," he says.

"Maybe," Roy says. He's still not sure what impulse had led him to try to learn the language in the first place; he wonders if he'd been trying to find a place he fit in better only to discover that being half-Amestrian wasn't viewed any more favorably by the small Xingese community in Central City than being half-Xingese was viewed by anyone else. But Roy was nothing if not adaptable, and Roy was handsome and exceptionally charming, and in reality most people didn't care what his ancestry was; it was a small minority who took issue with it, and Roy got so skilled at ignoring the occasional whisper and side-eyed look that eventually they ceased to register at all.

Levi is still running his left hand over Roy's right; Levi reaches with his other hand to pull a big pile of flash cards nearer. Roy has never used flash cards, but he understands that most people need to hear and see a word more than once before they memorize it, and Moblit had insisted that flash cards were an excellent study guide — though why Roy had taken Moblit's advice on this point is mystifying in retrospect.

"Maybe we should work some more on vocabulary," Levi says, even though he looks like he'd really prefer to be cleaning up the brownie crumbs and washing out the mugs. He flips over the top card and scrutinizes it, sounding out _hose_ under his breath before he offers _broek_ , tentatively.

"Yes, trousers," Roy says. "Very good."

Levi lets out a breath like he's achieved a feat of great import. Roy wonders why Levi wants to do this if he finds it so stressful. Maybe it's because a few butchered Amestrian phrases had been the only reason Roy hadn't set Levi on fire, when Levi had found Roy after the kidnaping. Maybe Levi just wants more insurance in case Roy ever loses his mind again.

 _"Apfel,"_ Levi reads out loud, and it is only an instant before he identifies it as apple. He flips the card to see that he's correct and gives Roy a small, fleeting grin.

Roy grins back automatically. Levi's smiles are still so rare that each one feels like a gift.

And maybe, Roy thinks slowly, as Levi struggles with _pferd,_ maybe that's why Levi's doing it. Not for himself at all, but as a gift for Roy. Because Levi knows that despite his best efforts, Roy is still sometimes sad and lonely and homesick, and Levi has decided that giving Roy an excuse to speak some Amestrian would be a simple way to ease that pain a little bit.

Levi stares at the card in front of him, scowling like that's going to make him remember what _pferd_ means, then eventually gives up, flips the card over and mutters 'horse' irritably under his breath. He huffs out an exasperated breath of air that ripples through his bangs, and Roy is filled with a swell of affection so strong that he has to hold himself still or else he will throw himself across the table and kiss Levi senseless.

Not that Levi would protest. He would probably welcome the chance to end the lesson early and he never protests a kiss. But there is only an hour before they are meeting Moblit and Zöe and Mike and Lotte for dinner, and Levi has a big stack of flash cards to get through. Roy rises to his feet and gathers up the mugs and brownie plate and teapot. "I'll wash these while you work on the words," he says, and he can feel Levi's sour glare at his back all the way into the kitchen.

* * *

Something strange is going on with Roy. Roy thinks he is being clever about hiding it, but Levi is very attentive to details, especially when those details concern Roy. There was that strange fit at dinner a few weeks ago, and the twitchiness which preceded and followed it. Roy obviously doesn't want to talk about it and therefore Levi doesn't ask Roy about it so Roy doesn't have to lie to him, but Levi's keeping careful watch and he has bribed Gerrit to tell him anything strange happens in the office.

It takes very little to convince Gerrit to tattle. He worships Roy almost as much as Armin does, and constant exposure to Roy at work has somehow only solidified his adulation, even though by now he must realize how lazy and obnoxious Roy can be.

"I'm worried about him too, Captain Levi," Gerrit says earnestly when Levi approaches him. "He keeps saying nothing's wrong, but it's weird. He sort of goes like this"—to demonstrate, he twitches all over, like he's having a seizure; Levi hopes this is an exaggeration—"and then stares around the room, but nothing's there. He thinks we don't notice but we always do."

'Always' is concerning, but Gerrit admits when pressed that the strange fits have happened only a few times. Levi is relieved that the frequency isn't higher and agrees that Roy's attacks are noticeable no matter how much he tries to pretend they aren't. Then he gives Gerrit a few coins he knows will make their way to Gerrit's sister and sends him back to work.

Two days after Gerrit's report, Roy has an episode when he and Levi and Erwin and several other officers are preparing for an upcoming expedition. Roy's not usually involved in these meetings, but he's here because this expedition is set to last two weeks, and Roy's experiences in his foreign war have proved to be invaluable when deciding how they will provision themselves for such a long trip — the trip itself made possible because with Roy coming along on missions their fatality rate has plummeted drastically.

Erwin is droning on and Levi is ignoring him in favor of watching Roy, who is also ignoring Erwin, but in a particularly artful way that makes it look like he is paying strict attention even though he is actually planning how to assign desks in the new Office of Recruitment (Levi has become proficient at reading Roy's messy scrawling handwriting, even upside down).

"…blah blah blah laundry detergent," Erwin says, at which point Roy twitches hard and jerks around in his seat, staring at the window.

"Something wrong?" Erwin says after a moment. "Roy?"

Roy swivels back around, flushing. "No. My apologies." Roy doesn't lie to Levi but has no qualms about lying to Erwin. When he does it's usually flawless, but in this case the lie isn't even half convincing; it's only Erwin's disinterest in anything not having to do with expeditions and Titans that lets Roy get away with it. Levi is not so easily put off, and he tries to signal Roy that he knows something is way the fuck up, but Roy has turned his attention back to the meeting, for real this time, and refuses to let Levi catch his eye for the rest of the afternoon.

"For fuck's sake," Levi says two days later when they are alone in their quarters, Levi working and Roy not, for a change. Levi has spent the last 20 minutes trying to respond to one of Erwin's proposals in a way that clearly says 'fuck you, you moron' without actually saying it. Roy just jerked so hard he almost knocked over the glass of whiskey he's been nursing for the past hour — a huge improvement over his half-a-bottle evenings, pre-Pinzer.

"What _is_ it?" Levi asks, exasperated. "Are you sick?" This seems an unlikely explanation, but it's about the only thing Levi can imagine that Roy might want to keep from Levi, mainly because he knows Levi will worry and also because he hates being sick and so might just be trying to deny it, however futile that may prove to be. Roy has come down with three childhood diseases already, and is by Levi's calculation overdue for a fourth, though none of them that Levi knows of involve involuntary muscle spasms.

Roy twists back around, his expression disconcerted. He frowns at the glass of whiskey in his hands as if he's almost surprised to see it there, then drains all the remaining liquid in a single swallow. He places the tumbler on the table carefully, right in the center of the coaster Levi has placed there for just such a purpose. "No," Roy says stonily. "I'm not sick."

"Then what the fuck is going on? And don't tell me it's nothing."

Roy frowns again, this time at his empty glass. The whiskey bottle is locked away in the cabinet and Roy makes no move to get up and fetch it. He just runs his finger along the rim of the glass, around and around. After a moment, he breathes in then out resolutely, jaw set. "Is it possible there are other people who do alchemy on this world?"

Levi blinks. He isn't sure what he'd been expecting Roy to say, but it wasn't that. "Um," he says. "No?"

Roy is staring at the glass without seeing it, still running his finger around the rim as if he's caressing it. "You knew of alchemy before I came here. You knew at least the word."

"Yeah, but it was just a … a myth. We told you that."

Roy's scowl deepens, seemingly of its own accord. "There's no mention of alchemy in your history books. Why do you know the word?"

Honestly, Levi has no idea how anybody knows any words. Since Roy arrived, Levi has discovered that language acquisition and disposition is a far larger and more complicated subject than he'd ever previously imagined. His own recent forays into learning Amestrian have only reinforced his opinion on the matter. He still can't figure out when to use which word for _the_. "I don't know. We know a lot of strange words."

Roy's finger on the whiskey glass stops short as he draws an impatient breath in through his nose. With a frustrated grunt, he stands up and takes the glass into the kitchen and then heads to the bathroom. When he returns a moment later, he doesn't sit down again, but goes to stare out the window, standing close enough to the glass that he can see past the glare, though there is very little to see outside at night — just a few bobbing lanterns if people are out walking late, possibly the dim shape of buildings across the courtyard illuminated by the moon on a clear night. Eventually he turns back around. "Your history is only one hundred years. Is it possible your people knew alchemy before the Titans came?"

Levi shrugs. "Maybe?" He can't imagine what difference that would make. Even if they knew alchemy before, they certainly don't know alchemy now. In all this time, Levi's never heard a single story to suggest otherwise.

Roy's scowl is so deep, Levi is afraid it's going to leave lines in Roy's otherwise flawless skin. "Maybe some people knew alchemy. Maybe some people know it still."

"I really don't think so."

Roy growls and stalks across the room to throw himself down on the couch in a dramatic snit, his left arm flung up across the back of the sofa, his right leg dangling to the floor. If he weren't so agitated, the pose would be seductive: shirt unbuttoned and gaping at the neck, legs splayed and inviting. He doesn't look seductive. He looks restless and jittery; his fingers are tapping frantically along the sofa's wooden frame and his leg is bouncing, only his toes maintaining contact with the floor. "In Amestris, I can't feel the transmutation energy unless I'm using it."

"Yeah, you've said that before. But you can feel it all the time here, right?"

"Yes. All the time. It makes my skin"—Roy frowns, not finding the word—"it's like when your foot is asleep and then the blood comes back."

"Tingle," Levi says.

"Tingle," Roy repeats. "My skin tingles all the time. Not a lot. But I can always feel it. I don't know if it's because there's more energy here or if the energy itself is different."

Now Levi is the one frowning. He realizes that he's been holding his pen unmoving above the report for several minutes and ink has dripped in irregular blobs all over the paper, blotting out several potentially key words in his rude response to Erwin's drivel. He isn't particularly motivated to rewrite them. Erwin will just have to intuit what Levi meant. "Is something happening to the energy? Something you can feel?"

Roy nods, a quick, sharp jerk of his head. "Yes. At least, I think so. I don't know what else it could be. But it's fast, there and gone. It's like … it's like someone is tapping me on the shoulder, but when I turn around, there's no one there."

Levi replaces his pen in the ink well and joins Roy on the couch, pushing his long legs out of the way. On any other evening, Levi might have put his head down in Roy's lap, but tonight he simply sits down next to him, fitting himself in the curve of Roy's arm where it rests along the top of the sofa. Roy smells vaguely of whiskey and more strongly of mint: he must have brushed his teeth when he went to the bathroom. "You think someone else here is doing alchemy?"

Roy is quiet for a long moment. His fingers are drawing whisky-glass circles on Levi's shoulder now. "I don't know. Maybe. It's so fast, too fast to be a transmutation, I think. You didn't feel anything?"

Levi can sense when Roy does alchemy if he's close by, but he hasn't felt anything special in the past couple of weeks; he certainly didn't feel anything a few minutes ago. Not a tingle, not a tap. "No."

Roy growls, low and frustrated. "I don't know what it is and there isn't anyone to _ask_. If Edward were here …" His leg is still bobbing up and down and his posture is tense and peeved. Talking about Edward always irritates him, the same way that talking about Maes makes him sad and talking about Riza makes him homesick. For the millionth time, Levi wishes he knew more about these people than their names and the few anecdotes Roy has shared. "What if someone's doing something with the Titans?"

Levi feels an unpleasant chill. "You mean like making more of them?"

"Maybe. Or making new kinds. The special ones."

Levi's stomach twists hard, but he forces down the incipient burst of anxiety. "Titans bodies aren't created with alchemy, right? Do you feel something when Eren changes?"

Roy laughs, a little grimly. "I feel terrified when he changes. But I don't feel alchemy." He pauses and frowns. "I do feel _something_ , but not … I don't know how to explain it. It doesn't feel like alchemy but that doesn't mean it isn't. The Titans sense it when I transmute, we know that."

The Titans go fucking crazy when Roy transmutes; it sends them into fits, makes them chaotic and unpredictable, but also makes them distracted and stupid — stupider. The more Roy transmutes, the more they focus on him to the exclusion of everyone else. It makes Roy a target in a way that sends Levi's heart leaping unpleasantly into his throat, but also makes the Titans easier for everyone else to kill. "You think it's all connected somehow?"

"I don't know. It might be. I don't understand the Titans. They don't make sense. They're almost like _chimären_ , but then why does their blood vanish when you kill them?"

 _Chimären_ , Levi thinks. Chimeras, whatever the fuck those are — some kind of mythical monster. Moblit had told a story about them once, trying to freak the recruits out, like anyone needs scary stories in a world filled with Titans. "In Amestris they make chimeras with alchemy?"

Roy nods, pacing now, tense and unhappy. "It's forbidden, like human transmutation, but people try it anyway."

"And you think Titans are some kind of chimeras?"

"I … no. I don't think so. But I don't know. I don't _know_ , Levi."

"You'll figure it out," Levi says. He means it to sound comforting but he thinks it ends up sounding like a platitude.

"I hope so," Roy says, but he doesn't sound confident, and when Levi tries to coax him into having sex to distract him, Roy says he is too tired and goes to sleep facing the other way.

* * *

The incidents — episodes? Attacks? — keep happening, but they're sporadic and don't seem to have any aftereffects except for putting Roy into a foul mood. Eventually it becomes normal, like the way Nicklas sometimes starts cursing out loud for no reason or the way Dirk's eye will twitch for a minute at a time.

"It's probably nothing," Levi makes the mistake of saying once — only once; Roy flies into a rage and spends that night and the next in guest quarters while Levi suffers through Moblit and Armin glaring at him the entire time even though they have no idea what Levi's done wrong.

"He was probably just being an asshole," Levi overhears Moblit telling Armin, to which Armin replies, "But that's no different than usual." Fuck you very much too, Levi thinks darkly, and goes off to find Roy.

"I only meant," Levi says, after he's apologized sufficiently and they've had the requisite make-up sex, "that it doesn't seem like something we need to panic about. There's been no increase in Titan activity."

Roy is silent next to him, sated and pliable. "Something's happening," he says eventually. "I don't know what it is or what it means. But it's not nothing."

"I know," Levi says. "You're right. I'm sorry." He rubs Roy's arm in support until Roy sighs and settles down.

Weeks pass, drifting slowly into a month, then two. At Levi's prodding, Roy enlists Hange, who is initially intrigued but has no useful suggestions beyond keeping a log of the incidents, which prove nothing other than that there is no pattern to the attacks that can be discerned no matter how deeply they analyze the data.

Levi finally manages to drag Roy to see Dr. Jansen, though only over Roy's strenuous objections. Roy insists there is nothing wrong with him and he is sullen and uncooperative while being examined. Dr. Jansen doesn't seem to be surprised by this behavior, which kind of makes Levi wish he'd gone with Roy on more infirmary visits when Roy was recovering after being kidnaped, rather than sending Mike and Lotte and Armin and Moblit in his stead.

"I don't think it's anything physical," Dr. Jansen says when he has finally finished poking and prodding Roy, and has checked out Roy's shoulder and ribs out of habit and for good measure. Jansen has taken voluminous notes on his clipboard, but Levi suspects half of it is random doodling. "It might be psychological."

Roy frowns and buttons his shirt up angrily. "It's not in my head."

"Well," Jansen says, "in some sense, everything you feel is in your head. Your experience of a sensation is determined by how your brain processes it."

Roy stares at Jansen blankly, his fingers frozen on the second to last button, leaving the collar of his undershirt temporarily exposed. Levi kind of likes the look, but Roy thinks it's uncultured to leave any part of any undergarment visible.

"He means," Levi says, eyes on the slim border of undershirt fabric, "that your brain is what makes you feel something a certain way."

Roy turns to Levi and Levi realizes immediately that he had misinterpreted Roy's expression, perhaps dangerously so. Roy's gaze at Jansen had not been blank. It had been hostile.

"I am not an idiot," Roy bites out. "Do you think I can't tell when something is real and something is imagined?"

"Well," Levi says, backpedaling slightly, "if you're hallucinating …"

Roy curses, quite foully even by Levi's high standards. It's almost impressive. He finishes buttoning up his shirt and pulls on his jacket with violent, angry movements. "I am not hallucinating. My eyes hurt sometimes. No, not my eyes, the space behind them. Even though there is nothing wrong with them now, some days they ache. My doctor in Amestris said it's _phantomschmerz._ Do you know that word?"

 _Schmerz_ is pain, a word Levi had learned from Roy early on, so that makes the translation easy. "Phantom pain," he says. "Erwin gets that, for his arm."

Fully dressed now, Roy crosses his arms across his chest, dour and petulant. "That is hallucination," he says. "But what I feel, the transmutation energy, it isn't phantom pain. It's real."

Jansen sighs and rolls his eyes theatrically at the dirty cracked ceiling. "I didn't say it wasn't real. I said it wasn't physical. Maybe it's all in your head, maybe it isn't. I don't doubt that you're feeling _something,_ but whatever it is, I don't think it's arising from any sort of physical ailment." Jansen frowns as Roy's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "That is to say, I don't think there's anything wrong with you. You're not sick."

Roy throws up his hands. "I know I'm not sick!" He glares at Levi. "I told you I wasn't sick!"

"You've been catching all kinds of diseases since you got here," Levi says. "I'm just being careful."

"You're being an asshole," Roy says, and stalks out.

There is silence in the small examination room for a few seconds. Then Jansen, looking unduly pleased, opens his mouth to speak.

"…not one fucking word," Levi interrupts, and follows Roy out the door.

* * *

A few more weeks pass and summer slowly drifts along. Roy invests in heavy curtains to keep the sunlight out of their bedroom in the early hours of the morning. Levi had never considered early morning sunlight to be a problem, but he finds he loves the way the curtains blanket the room in darkness, admitting only a sliver of light around the border of the window.

In the dark, Levi sleeps more than he ever has in his life. Five hours a night now, routinely, often even six, a full eight on one notable occasion after they'd returned from a successful one-week journey outside the walls when nobody had died — not one person! — and Roy had spent several celebratory hours very thoroughly debauching Levi in every room in their quarters before he'd finally consented to let Levi go to sleep.

It's Roy, obviously, who is making Levi sleep more, though the exact mechanism of how he accomplishes this feat is a mystery. Is it all the sex? No, because Levi sleeps even on the nights they don't have sex. ("You don't fuck every night?" Moblit had asked once when Levi had made the mistake of mentioning it. "Why not?" But Levi is only human, and Roy is only human, and some nights it's all either of them can do to strip off their dirty clothing before they collapse into bed.) Is it that since Roy's arrived, Levi's been using more and more of his power, to the point where he doesn't feel it constantly buzzing in his veins, that absence startling only because he'd never before noticed its presence? Maybe, but Levi sleeps even when he spends the whole day in his office doing mindless paperwork to keep Erwin off his ass and his power, unused, hums and complains. Is it simply Roy's presence next to him, his deep and easy breathing almost hypnotic, lulling Levi back to sleep when he wakes in the middle of the night? Maybe, except that Roy has bad dreams more often than he doesn't, and his breathing then isn't deep or easy or hypnotic. Also, sometimes he snores.

Maybe, Levi thinks, it's just that when Roy's in bed with him Levi's much less inclined to get up, and he lies there, content, until sleep claims him again. Perhaps sleeping well is just a skill Levi needed to learn, and with Roy next to him, solid and present, Levi's finally learning it.

In any event, it's almost morning; in earlier years Levi would have been awake and working hours ago, but he's sleeping now, and so when Roy wakes up swearing and bolts out of bed, Levi is several precious seconds behind.

"What," he says groggily. Fuck, he'd really been _out._ He blinks into the dimly lit room, a stray beam of sunlight peeking through a small gap between the curtains. "What's going on?"

"Alchemy," Roy says. He is already half-dressed; Levi blinks his eyes again and tries to force his brain to work.

"What? Roy, what are you … where are you going?" Levi sits up too quickly: the world tilts around him and he swears, squeezing his eyes shut until the dizziness fades.

"Someone's doing alchemy outside the wall." Roy is pulling on his harness now, fingers working on the buckles, confident and unerring after so many months of practice, pulling straps through the hasps and fastening them, one after another in a steady rhythm. "I have to go."

"Wait a minute…" Levi lurches out of bed but nearly stumbles when his legs catch in the twisted sheets he'd thrown off in the middle of the night. Roy runs hot as a furnace. "Roy, _wait_ , goddamn it, I'll come with you, just give me a second…"

"I have to go," Roy repeats, and he's already to the door, moving so quickly that just for a moment, Levi thinks this must be what it's like for everyone else, watching him when he fights the Titans — or not watching, because they tell him he moves so quickly, their eyes can't follow. But no, Roy doesn't move with that sort of speed; Levi's just half asleep still; half asleep and wasting time, because Roy's already in the living room and obviously out of his fucking mind if he's planning on going out of the walls by himself. The sun's peeking over the horizon; the Titans will be moving soon and if someone's doing alchemy outside the walls the Titans will come, drawn by the power like insects to a flame, and Roy is strong but he's not strong enough to take on a pack of crazed Titans by himself, fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Levi has never run at full speed in his own quarters before, but before he's really processed the thought, he's blocking the door. Roy comes up short, nearly crashing into him, and his expression turns briefly dark. "Let me out."

"In a minute," Levi says. "In a minute. Just … just hold on. You can't go out by yourself. You know that."

"Someone's using alchemy," Roy says impatiently. "Outside the wall."

"All right," Levi says. He doesn't bother asking how Roy knows. Roy's stopped talking about his strange attacks but he hasn't stopped having them and he remains convinced that what he is feeling is disturbances in the planet's transmutation field, whatever that is; Roy still has never been able to sufficiently explain it. "All right. We'll go. We'll get a team and we'll go."

Roy's lips press together in displeasure. He makes an aborted move toward the door but stops himself, realizing, probably, that there's no way through the door without going through Levi. Levi's often wondered in dull and quiet moments who'd win in a fight between them if both of them were in their right minds and at full strength, but he doesn't think Roy's any more eager to actually find out the truth than Levi is. "Alchemy will call the Titans. Whoever is out there, they'll be unprotected."

"The sun's not even up yet. There's time. You can't take on a pack of Titans by yourself and Erwin will kill you if you go out alone. Then he'll kill me for letting you do it. We promised we wouldn't."

Roy doesn't look convinced and his gloved fingers twitch impatiently. A frisson of anxiety twists its way through Levi's spine. He tries to keep his voice calm and steady. "Just … look, go get a horse, all right? Then ride to the gate and tell them we're coming. By the time they get the gate up, we'll be there."

Roy breathes in and out once through his nose, then he nods, a short brief jerk of his head. "I'm not waiting for you if you're late."

"We won't be late."

Roy nods again. Levi steps aside and Roy's gone, just like that. Levi gets himself dressed and out the door in less time than he would have thought possible, itching to go after Roy right the fuck now, but he has to be the smart one if Roy's so off-balance that he can't be smart for himself. Also, they _had_ promised Erwin there would be no more solo missions, and even if that was for Erwin's sake more than their own, a promise is a promise.

Levi and Roy's new quarters are on the opposite side of the building from Levi's old quarters, which is a pity, because Levi could use Mike and his bugle right now. But Erwin's quarters are now only one floor down and a few doors over — an uncomfortable proximity that Levi usually tries to ignore but that's helpful at this moment. In thirty seconds, Levi is downstairs pounding on Erwin's door. "Wake the fuck up!" When there is no immediate answer, Levi tries the doorknob: it's unlocked. Of course it is, because Erwin is a trusting idiot.

"What the fuck?" Erwin emerges from his bathroom, shaving cream on half his face and his hair sticking up on one side. He's in his uniform pants and an undershirt. He knew it was Levi before he ever came out, or he would have been more polite.

"Something's happening outside the wall," Levi says. "Roy felt it — it was alchemy. He's already heading for the gate. We need to get a team together and meet him there."

For all that Erwin drives Levi absolutely insane, he is also very good in a crisis, shifting from what-the-fuck mode to business in an instant. "Does he think it's his people?"

 _We're his people,_ Levi wants to protest, but he knows that's not true. Even though they've claimed him, made him one of their own, Roy has another whole life waiting for him somewhere else. "He didn't say. He woke up and bolted. He barely said a word."

Erwin ducks into the bathroom and comes back out almost immediately, wiping the cream off his face, still only half shaved. Fortunately, his beard comes in pale blond and he shaves every day even though he doesn't need to, so he doesn't look ridiculously uneven. He grabs a shirt from where it's hanging over the back of a chair, one of the ones that goes over his head, no buttons, the only concession he makes to his missing arm, and then only when he's in a rush. "Get your squad. I'll get Hange and meet you at the stables in ten minutes."

It's more like twenty by the time everyone's assembled, and Jean can't stop yawning, but everybody's awake and focused as they tack up the horses.

"He'll be fine, you know," Moblit says as they head out, riding as quickly as they dare through the city. The streets are still sleepy, only a few people up and about, sunbeams slipping through gaps between the buildings, each briefly blinding. "If there's anyone I trust to face Titans almost as much as you, it's Roy. He's good with the gear now, you know. Really good."

"I know."

"I mean, he's practiced with it more than practically anybody. He hardly ever gets sick anymore."

"I know."

"And the Titans can't stand up to his flames. I mean, he just snaps at them and they fall down."

"I _know._ I'm not worried about Roy."

"Really? Because you look worried."

Levi turns and glares at him.

Moblit blanches slightly. "All right, you're not worried. You're pissed."

"I'm not pissed either, although if you keep talking while I'm riding, I will be."

"Yeah, story of my li—he's here."

Roy is by the gate, mounted on his horse and antsy. The horse has picked up his restlessness and is stepping back and forth uneasily, whinnying. The great stone door is slowly grinding up. A few feet away, the guards are cowering by the controls looking terrified

"What'd you do?" Levi says, pulling up next to Roy. Now that he is closer, he can see suspicious looking scorch marks on the walls.

"They wanted to see my papers." Roy's tone is dismissive, impatient. "I … what is _überzeugt_? … hmm, convinced? … I convinced them that they didn't need to."

Levi imagines Roy didn't have to try very hard. A little flame goes a long way, and after Pinzer, there is no one in the city eager to get on Roy's bad side. Levi knows it still bothers Roy the way people stare at him sometimes, but he is also pragmatic enough to take advantage of his reputation when necessary.

When the gate is barely high enough to let him through, Roy darts forward without waiting for permission. Erwin shoots a disapproving look at Levi, as if Roy's insubordinate behavior is Levi's fault rather than a primary reason their relationship works so well, but Levi ignores him and follows Roy into the tunnel.

As soon as Roy is through the gate, he kicks his horse into a gallop without any hesitation as to direction. Levi remembers for a moment the first time he saw Roy on a horse; he'd been a competent equestrian but not an outstanding one. Since he joined the Corps, he's practiced dutifully with the recruits and is a perfectly adequate rider, but he doesn't love horses and has never seemed to Levi to be entirely comfortable mounted. Given the way he has set out now, crouched down low in the saddle and urging the horse forward, either Roy has been practicing more than Levi thought or he's motivated enough to be reckless.

Levi is still the better rider, though, and his horse likes him more than Roy's horse likes Roy. Levi catches up to Roy quickly and they stay abreast as the horses race forward; Erwin pulls up to them just a few minutes later. "Where are we going?"

"Someone's transmuting," Roy says tersely.

"So Levi told me. But where?"

"There," Roy says, jerking his head forward at the featureless landscape.

Erwin digests this in silence. He glances at Levi once, speculatively, but doesn't say anything else until they've ridden a little longer. "How do you know where to go, Roy?"

"I just do." Roy looks perturbed and more than a little irritated. "I didn't ask you to follow me. If you don't want to be here, go back."

Erwin's mouth tightens and he glances at Levi. Levi can tell what he's thinking: _This had better not be a trap,_ his expression says. It's irksome that after all this time there is still a part of Erwin that doesn't trust Roy. Maybe there is still a part of Erwin that doesn't trust Levi either. Maybe it's the same part. Maybe it's the part of Erwin that doesn't trust anyone whose life is not 100% devoted to rooting out Titans.

Erwin is no idiot, though, and he hasn't assembled a dozen people only to tell them to turn around because he's suddenly suspicious of Roy's motives. So, Erwin and Levi follow Roy, who is riding like he's been possessed by one of those demons Moblit is always going on about, the vengeful spirits of the untimely dead, who can overtake a weak person's will and commit evil. Moblit seems to be entirely serious about the creatures, but Levi spent his childhood with Kenny; he doesn't believe in demons, just humans being shitty.

Roy does seem like he is being driven by some supernatural force. It is only when the horses start to flag after a mile and a half that he relents and slows down to a fast but manageable trot.

Erwin directs the squadron to stay alert for Titan activity. They left in a hurry; they are equipped with ODM gear but little else, and Levi feels exposed and unprepared. He can see similar worry on everyone's faces. Everyone's but Roy's.

"There won't be any Titans," Roy says. Maybe he is possessed by a demon after all. A psychic demon, and now he can read Levi's thoughts.

"The sun's up," Levi says. "And we're making a lot of noise." Though maybe noise won't matter. They've never been sure, really, what attracts Titans. All they know is that the more people congregate, the more likely Titans are to appear, but Titans sometimes come for groups of two and three. Farlan and Isabel had been by themselves when they'd been killed.

"They won't come for us." Roy leans forward as if to urge his horse faster but then straightens up with a sigh. "We'll have to fight when we get there, though."

 _Get where_ , Levi doesn't ask. It feels like it would be a pointless question. Roy's running on instinct and Levi isn't at all sure Roy has any idea where they are going except somewhere outside the walls. But when they ride past the ruined castle and continue on west, it's suddenly obvious that they're heading for the area where Roy first appeared, and Levi is irritated he hadn't guessed as soon as they set out.

The circle is not close to the city but they are not accosted by a single Titan, and Roy is convinced they won't be. It's strange but pleasant. The sun is rising nicely now and the air is warm. The landscape is filled with riotous color: wildflowers running rampant in the grass, trees in full leaf, small birds with blue heads and yellow bodies flitting in and among the trees. If they weren't heading straight for what might well be a rampaging horde of Titans at the other end of the ride, Levi would be enjoying himself.

But then an ethereal light flares over the horizon, a smear of color that stains the sky unearthly shades of pink and purple and gold. Levi's grip on his reins is the only thing that keeps him in his saddle when the energy burst hits an instant later. It's not the physical force that nearly knocks him to the ground, but the sharp, sudden disorientation; it's the sensation Levi feels when Roy transmutes, magnified a thousand-fold.

Levi knows this feeling. He's experienced it once before.

Next to him, Roy has also managed to keep his balance, but he is staring at the sky in dismay. He is temporarily frozen in place, immobile; for a second, his profile is stark and unfamiliar, and Levi remembers again his first glimpse of the strange man staggering around in a ghastly bright-blue coat: how improbable he'd seemed, an island of alien blue adrift in a sea of flattened brown grass.

" _Scheisse,"_ Roy says under his breath, and in the next instant, he has set his horse to gallop and is gone.

The instant after that, Levi follows.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Here we go! I love all the domestic fluff but I also love plot that moves the story along and we've got lots of plot between now and the end (which is approaching, but not immediately).
> 
> Thanks as always to SapphireMusings for betaing, especially the language lesson which didn't exist at all until Friday and wasn't finished until yesterday. She's a trouper!
> 
> Art: I feel like I am getting so much better at these; I'm afraid to go back and look at the ones in the beginning, at least one of which I know was pretty darned mediocre and I shouldn't even have posted it. Anyway, I love this one too because it came out just how I wanted it, which they don't always do.
> 
> Comments: I'm always begging for them, but I suppose I have no shame, because I'll beg some more. I do love to hear from you! It makes me so happy.


	23. Knock knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock. Who's there? :)
> 
> Roy:  
> "The horses know what to do," he says grimly. "Don't fight unless you have to. But if you have to, don't try to not kill them, Alphonse. They're not people anymore and they can't be saved. Remember what I said. Go for the back of the neck. There's no point hitting them anywhere else."
> 
> Levi:  
> But ultimately, a large part of their newfound success is because Roy fights with the contagious certainty of a man who has already fought monsters who couldn't be beaten, and has beaten them anyway.
> 
> What does that mean if Roy goes home now? What does it mean if he leaves and takes with him his obstinate conviction that the impossible is possible after all if only you are sufficiently determined?

"Shit," Havoc says. He is wide-eyed and his breaths are coming just a little too quickly, even though they apparently are not any longer in immediate danger. The beasts outside are roaring in what Al assumes to be frustration, and Al's hastily erected fort jolts under the pounding of oversized fists. For now, the walls hold.

"I guess we know what happened to the General," Havoc says as their shelter shudders again.

Hawkeye looks at him quickly, frowning. She looks entirely calm, but if Al looks closely, he can see the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. "We don't know anything yet."

"Come on," Havoc says. "He was all alone and injured. There's no way he could have fought off these … whatever the hell they are."

"Maybe they weren't here when he arrived."

Al nods like he agrees with Hawkeye because it is always prudent to agree with Hawkeye, but privately he thinks Havoc is correct. The monsters, whatever they are, had attacked within minutes after their small party had arrived, when they were still staggering from the tidal forces in the portal. Al had erected the small stone structure on instinct, but Mustang probably wouldn't have done the same. When threatened, Mustang's first reaction had always been to use flame; his other alchemy skills were weak in comparison. It had driven Ed crazy that Mustang wasted what Ed saw as so much potential. So Mustang would have attacked with flame, if he'd even been coherent enough for that, and the monsters would have ignored it the way they ignored all the bullets Havoc and Hawkeye had shot at them, and then Mustang would have died.

But even if Al thinks Havoc is right, even if he thinks that Mustang probably died here almost as soon as he'd accidentally arrived, he's not going to say that out loud. Hawkeye would probably shoot him, and Ed, if he were here, would never forgive him for giving up on Mustang so quickly.

"Mustang's a stubborn bastard," Ed had said about once a day while they were perfecting the portal array. "The homunculi couldn't kill him. You don't think some half-assed alchemist managed it by accident, do you? He's going to give you such shit when he gets back."

The shelter shakes again and a small crack appears above their heads. Al swears under his breath and claps his hands, laying his palms flat on the wall and sending a burst of energy up and through the stone, sealing the fissure and strengthening it. There is a brief pause in the barrage from outside, but then the efforts redouble. The beasts, whatever they are, seem to be able to sense the alchemy somehow. Al wonders if that's what drew them here in the first place. If so, that is another point against Mustang's survival.

"What's the plan?" Havoc asks. He's clutching his gun to his chest even though bullets had proved futile against the monsters, gunshot wounds healing almost instantly on the beasts' strange flesh. "We can't stay in here forever."

It is a bit too soon to be thinking about forever, Al thinks. They have been here for less than half an hour. Possibly much less. Time stretches strangely in a crisis, and the first few minutes after they had arrived had been hugely disorienting.

Hawkeye taps her fingers restlessly against her thigh holster. "Alphonse, how long can you keep the walls in one piece?"

"Indefinitely," Al says. "I mean, I can keep fixing them as long as I'm awake. But I'm going to have to sleep at some point, and then we'll have a problem." He huffs a weak laugh. "Too bad I'm not in the armor anymore, huh? Didn't need to sleep then."

Hawkeye grimaces. She examines the small structure analytically. It's not Al's best work, but it's solid, a round dome fashioned of stone sturdy enough that even the monsters' enormous fists cannot easily crack it. They have some small portable lamps so they are not trapped in the dark. The kerosene won't last forever but Al is reasonably certain he can transmute some more; otherwise, he can probably transmute some windows, though he is in no rush to do that given how fiercely the creatures are pounding on the walls. "We've got enough food and water to last a couple of days," Hawkeye says, "so we're not in immediate danger."

As if in objection, the walls shake and shudder, and another section cracks. Al fixes it, swearing again, this time not so quietly. Havoc smirks at him, like he's going to tell Ed about Al's use of obscenities. Well, Al's not a kid anymore. He's shaving twice a week and everything. Anyway, Ed curses like a sailor and has since before he ever joined the military, and he'll probably say it's about time Al let out a few impolite words. Ed will _definitely_ say something like that, if they make it out of this alive and back to Amestris, that is.

"I assume," Hawkeye says, voice level, "that there is no way to activate a portal from in here."

Al is extremely unenthusiastic about this idea. "I _could_ ," he says. "But we're at least a couple hundred meters away from where we should be and the ground's not level. We might end up under three meters of dirt and rock or in the middle of a wall."

"We've got the map," Havoc suggests. "Doesn't it show all the safe places to portal back?"

"Yes, but I'm completely turned around," Al says. "It was kind of hard to pay attention to where we were, what with all the running and screaming." Havoc had been the only one screaming, but Al considerately doesn't point that out. "Unless you have a better sense of where we are in relation to the portal, and I mean _exactly_ where we are, the map's useless."

Havoc curses, not even a little bit under his breath, without shame. No surprise. Al has met Havoc's parents. Al thinks Havoc probably started cursing as soon as he learned to speak, which puts him only a few years ahead of Ed.

"We _could_ portal blind if we have to," Al says apologetically, "but only as a last resort."

Hawkeye scowls. "We're not at that point yet." She looks around in displeasure. Their shelter is safe, but it is also empty of everything but what they brought with them from Amestris, which did not include much in the way of heavy weaponry. Not that Al has any reason to believe heavier weaponry would even help. The beasts had healed instantly after being shot, and there are dozens of them outside.

Hawkeye is still scowling, and the slight crease in her forehead makes Al feel, ridiculously, that their predicament is somehow his fault. "Can you use alchemy to dig a tunnel?" she asks.

Al's first instinct is to say 'no,' but Al rarely answers a question on instinct (as opposed to Ed, who doesn't seem to understand that it's possible sometimes to not instantly blurt out whatever's on his mind). "I don't know," he says slowly, after thinking for a moment. Hawkeye knows far less about alchemy than Al would have expected given who her father was, but she has no alchemical talent whatsoever and it seems her father didn't feel it necessary to educate her even in the basics. She has a good sense of what is and isn't possible with flame alchemy, having spent so much time with Mustang, but materials alchemy is another story entirely. "I can't just evaporate the dirt," he says. "It doesn't work like that. I'd have to convert it into some other substance."

"How 'bout air?" Havoc suggests brightly. "We could use some."

"We have plenty of air," Al says with a sigh. "I've explained this to you. We have probably days' worth of air."

Havoc doesn't look convinced.

"And anyway," Al continues, "I can't turn dirt into air." But he bends down and touches the ground, letting the earth run between his fingers. "I can probably compress the earth, though, and transmute the inorganic matter, maybe into something very dense, like hematite or magnetite. That might work for a tunnel and give us enough space to move."

Havoc is scratching his chin. Al won't let him smoke in here and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. "I don't mean to tell you your business," he says, "but I remember back in the day, your brother would just clap his hands and make a hole in the wall if he needed to escape."

Alphonse Elric is not his brother. That is not to say he is not just as good an alchemist as Ed, or perhaps even better, though Al would never suggest that, because it would just be cruel now that Ed can no longer transmute. But if Edward Elric were here in this little shelter with Jean Havoc, he would surely make a comment to the effect that he doesn't try to tell Havoc how to use guns, and so Havoc should shut the fuck up about alchemy.

Al has ever been the more polite Elric. So all he says is, "Making a hole in a wall is not at all the same as making a tunnel under the ground. Especially," he adds, "since I don't know where we're going."

"Far away from the man-eating monsters would be a good start," Havoc says. "Really, anywhere else would be goo—" The walls shake violently, cutting him off. A small crack opens above their heads, letting in a dull gleam of the mid-morning light; Al claps his hands and slams them to the wall. Strange, prickly energy tears through him and into the wall, which morphs and bends, sealing the crack. "Ugh," Al says, shaking his hands out. "It feels so strange to transmute here."

Hawkeye looks at him for a moment, assessing his condition, then apparently decides that he is well enough that she doesn't need to worry about him and turns her attention back to their immediate predicament. Since Al has known her, Hawkeye has been endlessly sensible. It's to her credit that she can remain just as sensible in another reality. "So we have at least two options," Hawkeye says. "Portaling blind back to Amestris or tunneling away from here."

Havoc raises his hand. "I vote for whichever one of those is least likely to end up with us crushed to death or getting eaten by whatever the hell those things are."

Al doesn't really like either option and, moreover, he thinks that either one has a reasonable chance of leading them to a bloody, crushing death. However, as unappealing as tunneling blind is, portaling blind is even more so. For one thing, the alchemist's lab where they'd left from was in the middle of a densely populated section of the city. They are by now probably several hundred meters away. Even if they don't accidentally materialize in the middle of a wall, the chances that they will end up in an unpopulated area seem slim, and they are still uncertain as to exactly how strong the shockwave is on the exit side of the portal and how it will affect the surrounding area. Al doesn't want to die, but more importantly, he doesn't want to accidentally kill anybody or even be responsible for massive property damage.

"Tunneling is probably the better option," Al says. "But I'll have to reinforce the walls of the shelter first. Once we leave, we're not going to be able to just turn around and come back out. If the monsters get in here before we've gotten far enough away, we'll be in trouble."

Havoc swallows. He looks very pale in the dim light. "I can't say I love this plan."

Al doesn't love it either. Actually, Al hates this plan.

Hawkeye's mouth is a thin, tight slash across her face. In the dim light, with lines of displeasure around her mouth and across her brow, she looks far older than her years. It's a little bit like looking at her future self. Assuming they all survive to the future, that is. "We have to consider all our alternatives. I don't think we can fight our way out of this. Those creatures don't seem to die."

"Everything dies," Al says. "Even the homuculi." But he sets about reinforcing the walls of the dome, anyway, slowly and methodically, trying to ignore the horrible wailing of the monsters on the other side and the way the stone shakes and trembles under each blow. The pounding is getting worse. Either the giants outside are getting angrier or more have come, neither of which bodes particularly well for their prospects. Al's not sure how quickly they'll be able to move underground if he is digging out a tunnel as they go, and he's worried about the structural integrity of any tunnel he manages to create, especially if they are trying to move quickly. If the tunnel collapses on them, they'll be crushed; even if he reinforces the tunnel walls, which will take time he might not have, they still might suffocate. Really, all things considered, this is a terrible, horrible plan. Maybe portaling back blind would be better after all. If they portal into the middle of the ground, it'd probably be a really quick death, which would be better than slowly suffocating under a ton of dirt.

"I don't like the expression on your face," Havoc says to him gloomily.

Ed would probably shoot back something snarky if he were here, and while Al is slightly resentful that his own wit is not as ready or as caustic as Ed's, he's grateful that Ed decided to stay home for once, where he's safe. Ed has lives beyond his own to worry about now. "Sorry," is all Al says, and he tries to smooth his face out to something more neutral. He claps and puts his hands to the walls, letting the strangely frantic transmutation energy pass through him.

He's so intent on his work he doesn't notice for a minute that Havoc and Hawkeye have gone very still. "What is it?" Al asks before he can stop himself. He flushes as soon as he realizes what he said. Ed would never let him live down asking such an inane question.

"I don't know," Hawkeye says, but she's distracted, head cocked to the side, listening intently.

Havoc is also listening, eyes creased in concentration, as if squinting might help him hear better. After a moment, he presses his head right up against the wall, ear flat against the stone. "I think something's out there." He leans even closer against the heavy stone, but then jerks back with a curse when something slams against the wall on the other side, hard enough to make the entire structure shudder.

"Something's happening," Hawkeye says, stepping closer to one of the walls instead of away, as any sensible person would do. Though no one is as sensible as Riza Hawkeye, so perhaps any action she takes is something that a sensible person would do. "They're not attacking the dome anymore."

If anyone else had made that statement, Al would have dismissed it as nonsense, but there is never any money to be gained betting against Riza Hawkeye. Perhaps there is something in the pattern of thumps that is explanatory, though to Al one thump sounds very much like another.

Abruptly, without warning, every cell in his body lights on fire.

Or that's what it feels like, anyway, and it's so strange and startling that he can't help but gasp out loud, even as the strange sensation dims and strengthens again, like a pulse. His skin is tingling like his entire body had fallen asleep and is just starting to wake up.

"What is it," Hawkeye says flatly. In the dim glow of the lamps, her eyes are dark and intent as she stares at him.

"I don't—" Al starts. _I don't know,_ he was about to say, but suddenly he does know. It is alchemy, strange and foreign, but indisputably a transmutation all the same.

Al has never felt alchemy when someone else was doing it — well, never is too strong a word. Maybe he felt it once or twice when he was still in the armor and alchemy was the only thing he _could_ feel. But even so, it was only once or twice, in the presence of a really big transmutation and never since then. But then again, the energy field in Amestris is quiet and subtle. Al never notices it unless he's tapping into it. On this world, the energy is overwhelming and pervasive, almost intrusive. Transmuting here makes him feel a little like his skin is peeling off; even just standing around doing nothing, he feels like the energy's trying to burrow into him through his pores.

That's what those strange flashes must have been. It's transmutation energy gone amok, disturbances in the energy field, and that can only mean one thing. "Someone's doing alchemy out there," Al says. He resists the urge to scratch at the invisible beetles crawling all over his skin. "At least I think so." He pauses, considering. "I'm pretty sure."

Havoc turns from where's he was listening at the wall and says "fuck" irritably. "I sure hope it's not one of those monsters. That's all we'd need. Monsters who can do alchemy."

Al doubts the monsters can do alchemy, as they had hardly even seemed sentient, let alone intelligent enough to master the arcane knowledge necessary for even the simplest transmutation. But in the scant few minutes after the portal closed before the monsters had arrived, Al had scanned the area and hadn't seen any evidence at all of human habitation, no signs of anything whatsoever except what you'd expect to find in a field: grass, shrubs, insects, small animals and birds. There'd been nothing in the distance but more of the same and nothing on the horizon but the dull green of a forest.

So if it's not the monsters, and there hadn't been any sign of humans, then who is doing alchemy?

Al's arms are tingling and he rubs at them irritably, giving in to the urge to scratch, which accomplishes exactly nothing since the itch is not physical. Whoever is doing the alchemy seems to be doing a lot of it, if each stinging flare is another transmutation. Assuming Al is not completely wrong about what is going on. Given that he is in another reality, it is entirely possible that Al is completely wrong about what's going on.

But if he is not wrong, if these strange tingles are in fact evidence of alchemy, then perhaps there are humans nearby after all. Al supposes that with monsters around, the humans might well keep themselves hidden, underground perhaps, if they have stone alchemists among them, or perhaps in the distant forest. Perhaps the hypothetical humans sensed Al's alchemy the way he is sensing theirs — another itchy prickle runs up Al's spine — or perhaps they sensed it when the portal opened.

A huge thud shakes the shelter but it doesn't sound like a purposeful one. Al thinks, fancifully, that perhaps one of the monsters has fallen on top of the dome. If so, he wonders if it will stay there. He doesn't remember how pointy he made the top. For a moment he imagines a lifeless enormous body impaled upon a stone spike. But no, he doesn't suppose he would have formed the roof with any kind of steeple. So what is far more likely is that a monster, having fallen on the very top of the dome, is lying spreadeagled at the peak if it landed just so, or if having landed off to one side, will have slid down onto the ground in an ungainly heap of limbs.

From outside the dome, they hear a whoop of excitement. It is muffled by the stone but almost certainly human, so that answers one question in a very satisfactory way. Al looks to Hawkeye and Havoc to see if they heard it, and they both have their guns out, so he supposes they have, though clearly they are less sanguine about the friendliness of the arriving humans.

Well, Al is optimistic enough for all three of them, and he chooses to believe the unknown people outside will be allies and not just more enemies to battle. (Though of course they might very well be enemies; the possibility that any humans here might be hostile was precisely why Hawkeye and Havoc had brought so many guns. After all, if there are alchemists here, then there is a reasonable chance that they _could_ have sent Mustang home but chose not to. And if so, that wouldn't make them very friendly in Al's book.)

The chaos outside persists for several long minutes, filled with more thuds on the dome and more shouts and whoops from the (presumed) people outside. The monsters are roaring now, too, and the sound is terrible, eerily inhuman and scary. But then, eventually, there is silence, from outside the dome and within. And then, after that, someone knocks on the wall. It sounds exactly like you would expect if a human were pounding a fist on a shelter made of stone.

"What should we do?" Havoc whispers.

Hawkeye chews her lips for a moment, staring at the wall pensively. Then she strengthens her stance, tightens her grip on her gun, and jerks her head at the wall. "Let them in."

Havoc takes up position across from Hawkeye with his own gun out, and Al swallows any comment he might have made about overt shows of force possibly not being the best way to win new friends. With a clap of his hands, Al transmutes a section of the wall away.

Light floods in the new doorway, almost blinding after all the time spent in the dim lamplight. Al's arm comes up involuntarily to block his eyes as he squints against the glare.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a silhouette enters the doorway, sunlight from behind casting his face entirely in shadow and glinting off the blade of a sword. It's a man, Al thinks, a man about the same height as Al, trim, but broader in the shoulders. From the shape of him, he is quite ordinarily human. Al is surprised by the rush of relief he feels at the fact.

" _Wie zit hier_?" the man says incomprehensibly. The tone of his voice is suspicious and wary even if the words are nonsense, and Al wishes despairingly that there was such a thing as language alchemy, because they had guessed they might have trouble communicating with the natives but nobody had come up with any way to do anything about it.

Hawkeye and Havoc are silent in the shadows. Al can see them with their guns out, but they are probably invisible to the man. So it is up to Al, which is perfectly fine, even though he wishes they had agreed as a group what it is that he should say. Simple is best, he figures. "Um, hi," Al says articulately. "I'm Al." He pauses. "I don't suppose there's any chance you can understand me?"

The man freezes, goes absolutely, utterly still for several beats of Al's heart. A strange overreaction, Al thinks, even if the man wasn't expecting to hear someone speaking a foreign language. He couldn't have known he'd be dealing with someone from another reality. But then the man takes another step in, out of the doorway and into the lamplight, and his features resolve into … Mustang. Mustang with hair long in front but short on the sides, with a peculiar set of goggles dangling around his neck, dressed in an unfamiliar uniform, with enormous metal boxes strapped on his legs and carrying a sword, but it's _Mustang,_ very much here and very much alive.

 _Well, that was easy_ , Al thinks stupidly. He is transfixed by the sight of the gloves on Mustang's hands, crisp and white and with an array stitched on the back that Al realizes only now after the fact he had never truly expected to see again.

"Holy shit," Havoc says at the same time Hawkeye says "Roy" in disbelief.

Mustang looks a little shellshocked and glances at each of them with wide eyes. His gaze lands last on Al. " _Hoe deed je_ …" he says, then grimaces and shakes his head hard. "I should have guessed it would be you. That was a lot of alchemy."

Al nods a little robotically and his mouth moves without conscious direction from his brain. "Yes. I had to fix the walls, only, only it felt so strange. I could feel your alchemy, too, General. Except I didn't know it was your alchemy. I wasn't even sure it _was_ alchemy. I was afraid it was those monsters."

"Titans," Mustang says. He looks over his shoulder at the doorway, distracted by something he sees there. "They can't transmute."

Before Al can say another word, someone else steps into the shelter. He's a short, fierce-looking man who is frowning hard and who reminds Al instantly of Ed. He's got the same bulky metal boxes on his legs as Mustang and is carrying a sword in each hand. He's also covered in gore that appears to be steaming. _Gross._

The man eyes them suspiciously but makes no move to attack, though he appears to consider it for a moment. " _We kunnen hier niet blijven_ ," he says to Mustang in an impatient blur of syllables. " _Meer titanen komen eraan_." The only word Al catches is 'Titans.' Mustang's face goes dark and tense, and he mutters something under his breath that is undoubtedly obscene.

"Come on," Mustang says, abruptly all business. "We have to leave. The alchemy will attract more Titans. We don't want to be around when they get here."

The short man precedes them out the doorway, but as soon as they're all out, blinking in the sunlight, he pulls Mustang off to the side for a short, heated conversation. It's hushed and quick and Al can't make heads or tails of it, but at the end the man nods, even if he looks irritated. To be fair, he'd looked irritated to start. He pulls a cloth from a pocket and starts wiping at his sword, very pointedly maintaining his position close to Mustang's side, right where Hawkeye would once have been.

There are about a dozen soldiers outside in the clearing, all dressed identically to Mustang, wearing the same brown uniforms with more belts and buckles than seem plausibly necessary, great green capes that seem impractical in the heat, strange apparatus strapped to their legs and swords at the ready. They are moving efficiently through the enormous bodies littering the ground, swiping occasionally at a neck, wordless and grim. A few peer at Al and Havoc and Hawkeye curiously, but most of their attention remains focused on the grotesque figures on the ground. Al's gaze lands on one man who has been watching him ever since he stepped out of the shelter. Caught staring, the man — boy, really, surely no older than Al, with dirty blond hair and a pale, round face and enormous blue eyes — doesn't flinch or look away. He just continues to stare, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, until one of his companions, another boy with vivid green eyes, tugs on his arm and pulls him away.

A few of the soldiers are ignoring the monsters in favor of making adjustments to their peculiar gear. Nobody seems fazed by the monster — Titan — corpses littering the ground, grotesque and contorted in death. The bodies are steaming and disintegrating as Al watches. None of the soldiers appear to find this remarkable, not even Mustang, whose own sword is spotless and pristine.

A man with blond hair picks his way through the corpses. He is missing an arm and is very tall, and he looks less than pleased to see Al and Hawkeye and Havoc. He sizes them up in a moment and turns to Mustang. " _Jouw mensen_?" he asks Mustang.

The small angry man twitches and casts the tall man an unpleasant look, but Mustang himself just nods curtly. "Yes. _Ze zijn van_ Amestris."

The tall man grunts and the short man swipes angrily at his sword. " _We moeten gaan_ ," he says. He sounds impatient.

The tall man nods. " _Zet ze op paarden_ ," he says, jerking his chin at Al and the others before stalking off, barking incomprehensible orders to the soldiers and, _wow_ , Al hasn't felt this lost since he was wandering around Xing with Mei and stumbling across a different dialect every other week. Al wonders how Mustang had managed when he'd first arrived, alone and injured and unprepared.

Mustang has holstered his sword. "Come on," he says brusquely, and strides quickly through the clearing, stepping deftly around the steaming monster-corpses littering the ground but otherwise paying them no attention.

The short man falls into place at his side without a word, flicking an inscrutable glance at Mustang. After a moment, he murmurs something to Mustang, who answers back just as quietly, and they both frown and glance at a pack of horses grazing contentedly in a patch of sunlight.

" _Kun jij paardrijden_?" Mustang asks Alphonse, then grimaces when the other man smirks at him. "Shit. Sorry. It's been a while. Can you ride?"

"Ride," Al says, almost involuntarily. "Ride where? We can't just _leave."_ Not without reorienting themselves first.

"I told you, more Titans will come. We can't stay here," Mustang says. The short man is already mounting a horse, movements swift and assured. As soon as he's seated, he takes the reins and trots over to the rest of the soldiers, barking brusquely at them. Al finds himself relaxing a bit as soon as the man is gone; there is something strange and intense and territorial about him that makes Al uneasy. His look at the Amestrians had not been friendly. Mustang starts checking the reins and gear on a large pale horse, squinting in concentration and rubbing at the leather. His eyes flit to Hawkeye and Havoc. "I know Riza can ride. Jean?"

"Spent my summers on my aunt's farm, sir," Havoc says. "Could rope a steer if you need me to."

Mustang looks briefly taken aback. "I don't think there will be any call for that. Alphonse?"

"I — yes, I can, well enough." Al is not actually a very good rider, having spent most of his formative years in a suit of armor that would have broken the back of any horse, but he won't fall off and hopefully that will be sufficient.

"Good," Mustang says. He's adjusting the bit in the horse's mouth now and keeps squinting at the horizon in a manner that is making Al very anxious. "We don't have any extra horses. You're going to have to ride behind someone. And we don't have double saddles."

"We can ride behind the saddles, sir," Hawkeye says. She doesn't appear concerned about leaving their location even though Al has explained before how critical it is that they always know exactly where they are with respect to where they portaled in. He wonders if she really cares about getting back to Amestris now that she has found Roy alive, then dismisses that thought as uncharitable. "Will guns be any use?"

Mustang shakes his head. "Only if you can get a clear shot to the nape of their neck." He taps the back of his neck lightly. "Otherwise, they'll just heal. But it'll be better if you don't even engage. When we run into them"— _when_ , Al notes, not _if_ —"we'll take care of it. Moblit."

Al blinks at this nonsense word, but then a soldier steps out of the crowd. He's thin with light brown hair and a long skinny face, but his expression is open and friendly and he quirks an eyebrow at Mustang inquisitively. Mustang says something fast and liquid to him, and the man nods. "Moblit, Riza," Mustang says, waving in introduction. "Riza, Moblit. You'll be riding with him."

The man — Moblit, apparently — grins at Hawkeye and hops lithely up on his horse, then holds a hand down to help her mount behind him, smirking when her hands wrap familiarly around his waist. Al guesses that Moblit would not be smirking if he knew how many men Hawkeye has sent to the hospital for getting too familiar.

Havoc is paired with another soldier, a young man whose name seems also to be Jean. Whether this is deliberate or accidental, Al doesn't know. But then Mustang mounts his own horse and turns to Al. "Come on, Alphonse."

Al's a little startled that he is the one riding behind Mustang instead of Hawkeye, but then Al realizes that Mustang has hardly yet said a word to Hawkeye; that he's hardly even looked at her. Perhaps Mustang doesn't want to be the one riding on a horse with Hawkeye's hands around his waist. Perhaps that will be too much, too soon, after so long apart. 

Everyone else is already mounted, Al sees, and some have already started off, heading for a smudge on the horizon that might be a city or might be a mountain or might just be a smudge. Al mounts the horse behind Mustang. The horse bucks and shimmies a little under their combined weight but settles when Mustang strokes its mane.

"You _can_ ride, can't you?" Mustang says as he clicks his tongue to get the horse moving.

"I grew up in Risembool, General," Al retorts. "There weren't too many cars."

"Good," Mustang says, and leans forward slightly. "Hold on."

Mustang's horse sets off, and the soldiers fall into a loose formation easily, riding at a steady clip. Mustang keeps to the back, keeping an anxious eye on the younger soldiers in the middle. He doesn't bother trying to talk to Al as they go, which is fine with Al, who is holding on for dear life. Mustang's a competent enough rider for someone who grew up in the city, but the horse isn't happy about having two people on its back, and Al needs all his attention to keep his seat.

Mustang is agitated and his unease is contagious. His body is stiff and tense, twitching from side to side as he scans the horizon. Whatever it is he sees out there apparently makes him more anxious. More of the creatures, Al guesses, but maybe there are other monsters on this world that Mustang fears too. Maybe there are things worse than the giants. Al grips the saddle a little harder, willing his hands not to shake.

The tall blond man without an arm is leading the group. No automail on this world, apparently. He's chatting to another soldier with a ponytail and goggles similar to the ones Mustang's got around his neck. The short angry man is riding a little bit back and off to the side, bent low and tight and intent over his horse. Every once in a while, he glances at Mustang and a peculiar, tight expression crosses his face, but he doesn't approach again.

All of a sudden, he swerves his horse around, yelling and pointing to the right. Al checks automatically but all he sees is a faint brown smudge on the horizon. Mustang checks too, but the smudge must mean something to him, because he spits out something undoubtedly foul, not in Amestrian, then cranes his head back around to peer at Al over his shoulder. His face is dark and his mouth is set into a thin tight line.

"The horses know what to do," he says grimly. "Don't fight unless you have to. But if you have to, don't try to not kill them, Alphonse. They're not people anymore and they can't be saved. Remember what I said. Go for the back of the neck. There's no point hitting them anywhere else."

"Not people _anymore_?" Al repeats dumbly. "General, what …"

"Back of the neck," Mustang repeats. "But only if you have to. It'd be better to raise another shelter. That was smart."

The pack of riders is splitting now, separating into small groups of two and three as they race forward. The smudge gets larger, ballooning rapidly into a swirling cloud of dust that approaches at ridiculous speed and resolves all of a sudden into a horde of monsters, careening over the ground and heading straight for them. Al feels a lurch in his belly at the sight. The smallest Titan is still at least a meter taller than a human, the largest as tall as a building. They are fat and thin, vaguely male and female, of all different shades and complexions and hair colors. Some are even bald. All that is uniform in them is that they are grotesque and terrifying.

The soldiers are waiting for something, some kind of signal perhaps, though Al doesn't know what it might be or what they're going to do when it happens. Then one of the monsters gets close enough that Al can see the color of its weirdly glazed eyes, and the short man … _blurs_ out of his saddle and disappears. Al blinks and stares, but sees nothing of him until the monster falls heavily to the ground. The short man leaps off its shoulders, blade drawn and bloody.

The rest of the soldiers launch in the air then, yelling, and everything is suddenly chaos.

Mustang tugs his goggles up and over his eyes and rises to his feet in the saddle, which is a feat Al would not have suspected Mustang could pull off, based on what Al had seen when Ed tried to teach him to dodge physical attacks. "Keep Riza and Jean safe," Mustang says over his shoulder, pulls out a sword, and launches improbably into the air without another word.

"What the fuck?" Havoc says wildly a moment later, when their horses have retreated to a small copse of trees off to the side and the three Amestrians have dismounted. Hawkeye and Havoc have their guns out, for all the good their weapons did last time. "They can fly?"

"They're not flying," Hawkeye corrects. Her voice is calm, but a few strands of hair have escaped from her bun and are floating messily around her face. Al's not used to seeing her anything less than perfectly composed and it's momentarily disconcerting. "They're using that equipment on their legs to maneuver somehow."

She's right, of course; on closer inspection Al can see thin filaments emerging from the complicated harness system the soldiers all wear, and some kind of control system built into the grips of their swords. Al can't begin to guess how it all works, but it obviously does, and well too … the soldiers are hurtling through the air, flipping head over heels and changing direction in a manner that seems frankly to defy physics. Ed would love it.

It's fascinating and bizarrely beautiful to watch, even if every once in a while, a monster comes crashing to the ground with blood spurting out its neck.

"I can't believe they're fighting giants with swords," Havoc says faintly. "Swords."

"Well, we know guns don't work," Hawkeye answers, terse and practical. Despite this, she's still holding onto hers.

Havoc looks disgruntled, maybe even a little offended. Havoc is a gun guy.

"We know guns don't work from the front," Al corrects. "The General … he said to go for the back of the neck if we have to fight. But that we shouldn't fight if we don't need to."

Hawkeye absorbs this information with a slight flattening of her mouth and tightens her grip on her gun, though she doesn't flip off the safety. She watches the battle for another moment before commenting, "It doesn't look like we'll need to."

Al agrees. The soldiers are dispatching the monsters with swift, brutal efficiency and no mercy, which is vaguely chilling considering Mustang's cryptic "anymore." Are the monsters chimeras, then, Al wonders, remembering Nina with a pang and a twist of guilt. Were they human once? If so, can it be true that there is really no hope for them at all?

Al doesn't know and there is no one immediately around to ask, so he returns his attention to the battle. Mustang fights with flame, which is no surprise but still strangely reassuring and familiar in this bizarre and hostile place. No one else is using alchemy but Mustang, which _is_ a surprise, because this world is overflowing with so much alchemical energy, Al thinks he might transmute by accident if he sneezes. As it is, he feels a prickle like a spider crawling up his spine with every one of Mustang's transmutations. Mustang's flame is white hot and his aim is devastatingly precise, even though he is flying through the air as crazily as the rest of the soldiers.

Well, almost as crazily. Mustang seems to stay lower down, even alighting on the ground several times, and his flips and turns are more subdued than anyone else's.

Nonetheless, that he's doing it at all is astounding. Gas alchemy is notoriously difficult, much more so than materials alchemy; gas is flighty and transient, prone to dissipating and highly sensitive to unpredictable air currents. Most alchemists can't successfully pull off even the most basic gaseous transmutations. As a consequence, Mustang's not only the sole flame alchemist in Amestris, he's one of a very small number of competent gas alchemists in the world.

How much had Mustang had to practice, Al wonders, so that he could focus his transmutation while tumbling head over heels through space? Maybe time passes differently here. Maybe Mustang's been here longer than the year and a half he's been missing from Amestris. Time dilation was something Ed in particular had been worried about, but they'd had no way to test for it so Al had never let that consideration turn to worry. Ed's particular concern had been that the time differential would run the other way: that Al, Hawkeye and Havoc would spend a day or two finding and rescuing Mustang, but that years would pass at home.

Ultimately, they'd decided there was no special reason to worry about a time differential and nothing to do about it even if one existed. But now that Al's here, now that he sees Mustang flipping through the air and transmuting so powerfully that Al can feel it in his bones, Al can't help but wonder just how long that 18 months has been for Mustang.

"That little guy's goddamn _fast,"_ Havoc says. "I can't even follow what he's doing. That's not natural."

"Not for us," Hawkeye says. "Maybe it's normal here."

Al doubts it, because none of the other soldiers move like that. How this one man is doing it is a good question, but Al's already got a long list of good questions, and this one is not particularly close to the top.

The battle ends nearly as quickly as it had begun, with a dozen or more fresh corpses on the ground, all cut open, bloody and steaming. Most of the soldiers don't even bother to wipe their blades, which is kind of disgusting, but it doesn't seem like there's much need: the blood and the gore start evaporating between one breath and the next. As soon as the soldiers have confirmed the last monster is dead, they re-mount their horses and set off again, riding even faster.

The monsters attack again a little while later — Al thinks maybe 20 minutes, but he's got no way to check the time — and again Al finds himself doing nothing but watching from the safety of a nearby grove of trees. The soldiers seem like they're getting tired now, less graceful, except for the short man, who appears to have limitless energy and limitless rage. He kills half a dozen by himself before anyone else has even gotten in the air. Al still can't see him when he moves, which is _bizarre_.

Mustang seems to hesitate for just a moment this time before he launches, and he stays even lower to the ground than before. When the last monster has been dispatched, Mustang lands clumsily and bends over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He looks like he's about to be sick. The short man and the young boy with the blond hair and big blue eyes are at his side in an instant, concerned, but Mustang just shakes his head. He stays folded over for a few minutes, and when he eventually straightens up, he looks better, if not well, pale and exhausted but not quite so green.

"Are you alright?" Al asks when Mustang re-mounts the horse.

"I'll be fine," Mustang says, which is very much not the same as "I am fine," but Mustang seems disinclined to talk about, or about anything at all, except to say, "We're almost there."

'There,' it turns out, is some kind of town or city behind some enormous walls, the likes of which Al has never seen. The walls loom in the distance as they approach; taller than the famed Xingese wall that May brags about, taller than the tallest building in Central City, maybe even as tall as the ancient citadel in Creta that Falman is always going on about, but that one was built by ancient alchemists and Al doesn't think this wall was.

Two more monsters attack before they reach the walls, strays, perhaps, not part of a pack, but the short man handles them by himself with no fanfare and seemingly no effort; Mustang is tense, watching him, but he doesn't make any move to rise from his saddle, only exhales with relief when it's over. With the walls in sight the soldiers press forward harder, and soon they are within the city. A great stone gate grinds down behind them, closing with a definitive and reassuring thud. Only then does Mustang's body truly relax.

The city is strangely archaic, Al thinks as they ride through the streets, and wounded. It's like stepping back in time a hundred years, before there were phone booths on every corner and cars on every block, right after the last big epidemic had wiped out a tenth of the people in every city in Amestris and the survivors could hardly focus on living when everyone was so scared of what calamity was coming next. Al's seen photographs from those days, grainy and faded sepia-tones, and nobody was ever smiling.

They ride to what's obviously a military base, and after that to the stables, dark and musty and smelling like horse, and it's only then, after they've all dismounted and most of the soldiers have dispersed, that Mustang finally turns around to look at them properly.

He's dusty and pale and maybe still a little green around the gills, and he looks strangely alien in his brown uniform with the odd clunky goggle-glasses draped around his neck and a green cape draped over his shoulders. But his gloves are the same and his eyes are the same and so is the tiny scar on his chin from that time he'd sparred with Ed and Ed had gotten a little too enthusiastic and Mustang had been lucky to get away with only three stitches.

Mustang is silent, staring at them. Al wonders again if he's been here longer than a year and a half. That would explain why he's so shocked to see them, maybe. Or maybe he's shocked because he'd given up all hope of ever seeing them again at all.

Mustang makes a move forward, but checks it with a sharp inhale, like he's afraid to close the distance. Then he stares at them a little longer, paralyzed, a host of conflicting emotions flashing across his face: shock and disbelief and joy but also fear. "What are you doing here?" he asks finally. His voice is hoarse to the point it's almost unfamiliar.

Back straight, at parade rest, Hawkeye answers simply, "We came to bring you home, sir."

At that, Roy's expression flickers and cracks. "Sir? Really?"

Hawkeye shifts and relaxes. Something in her face eases, and suddenly she doesn't look like a soldier anymore. She looks younger, wide-eyed and hopeful, like a kid on Yule morning right before diving in to the mound of presents stacked under the tree. "Roy."

Mustang does move then, lurching forward, weird paralysis broken. He sweeps Hawkeye into his arms, burying his face in her hair and murmuring something unintelligible that Al's just as happy not to hear. Al doesn't think Mustang and Hawkeye were ever romantically involved, but they loved each other all the same; when Mustang had disappeared, Hawkeye had been hollow and shell-shocked for months, gutted, like Al thought he'd have been if it had been Ed who'd disappeared.

Havoc lets them have a moment, but only a moment, and then he lets out a loud whoop of victory and thrusts himself at them both. Mustang twists out of Hawkeye's arms with a grin and embraces Havoc with just as much fervor, and then laughing, spins around to catch up Al too. "I can't believe you're really here," he says breathlessly. It's like he's trying to hug all of them at once. "I can't believe you found me."

"Sorry it took so long," Al answers, laughing too, flush with success. They'd done it! They'd crossed universes and found him and he was alive and safe and now they were going to bring him home.

His feelings of joy and victory last for all of a minute, until he glances over to see the short man watching them, eyes clouded and mouth a thin tight line of unhappiness. When he sees Al looking, his expression shutters, and he turns and walks away.

* * *

"They came to bring him home?" Erwin says when Levi walks out of the stables, miserable and filled with a stupid, pointless fury.

Levi wants to answer but finds his throat unexpectedly clogged. He coughs to clear it and manages to get out, "Apparently," before his voice is lost again.

There is no 'apparently' about it. These are Roy’s friends. The blonde woman is Riza Hawkeye. Levi recognizes her from the … what had Roy called it … the _fotografieren_ , the strange small portrait in his recovered wallet. The tall man, Levi didn't recognize, but his delight on seeing Roy, the way Roy had hugged him, spoke of intimacy. And then the boy — young man — Alphonse. Alphonse Elric, surely, one of the mythical Elric brothers, the pair to whose measure Roy always insists on comparing himself and finds himself coming up short.

Moblit is eying him worriedly. "You all right?"

Levi wonders what his face looks like now. Not good, presumably. He doesn't want to imagine what it might have looked like when Alphonse Elric caught him staring. He tries to school his expression into something more closely resembling neutral. "I'm fine."

"Uh huh." Moblit manages to pack more skepticism into those two syllables than Levi would have thought possible, even for Moblit.

"I'm fine," Levi says again, wondering when he'd gotten so close to Moblit that Moblit actually thought it was permissible to … to skepticate at Levi like that. Time was, Levi would have gutted anybody who dared. Now he just feels old and grumpy. "I'm tired. I killed 26 Titans today."

"Seen you kill more," Moblit answers with a shrug.

Levi flips him off. "How many did _you_ kill?"

"Eight," which truthfully is not all that unimpressive for a single soldier who is not Levi or Roy, not that Levi would ever admit it to Moblit. They've all gotten more lethal recently, and it's not entirely to Roy's credit, because he is good and he is strong and he is brave and he is vicious, but he's still just a single man and no single man can be responsible for the fact that now, more often than not, their expeditions return with few injuries and no deaths that aren't Titans'. But on the other hand, to say Roy had nothing to do with the changes in the Corps would be a lie, because before he came they were just barely holding on, and now they're _winning_. It's not just the alchemy, though it doesn't hurt that Roy can fry a Titan at 100 paces and create a defensive wall with nothing but a clap of his hands. But ultimately, a large part of their newfound success is because Roy fights with the contagious certainty of a man who has already fought monsters who couldn't be beaten, and has beaten them anyway.

What does that mean if Roy goes home now? What does it mean if he leaves and takes with him his obstinate conviction that the impossible is possible after all if only you are sufficiently determined?

"Levi," Erwin says. His tone is neutral, matter-of-fact, but there is an unexpected softness in his eyes that makes Levi first want to hit him, next strangle him, then stomp on his beaten, strangled body. "You've known from the beginning that they would be looking for him."

 _Fuck you_ , is what Levi wants to say, more or less on general principle, because it's Erwin and that is how Levi almost always wants to respond to anything coming out of Erwin's mouth, but also in this instance in particular response to the expression on Erwin's face. "I'm _fine_ ," he says mulishly, annoyed that he doesn't sound convincing even to himself, and knowing that Moblit and Erwin know him well enough to hear the lie too. "I'm just glad we got there in time to save them."

Moblit hums thoughtfully. "Seems like they had it mostly under control. They alchemied up that shelter."

Levi will never, ever accept using 'alchemy' as a verb. It makes him twitch like the sight of dust on a windowsill. But as he has pointed this out to Moblit in the past, there is a very good chance that Moblit is doing it for the express purpose of annoying Levi; in that case, Moblit is succeeding but Levi will be damned before he tells him so. "The blond kid is Alphonse Elric."

Moblit and Erwin don't seem to find this particularly enlightening, so Roy must not have shared his ridiculous insecurities with them. "He's an alchemist," Levi adds. "Roy says he's very powerful." Roy actually says Al's the strongest in the world but Levi keeps that to himself, out of some moronic streak of protectiveness, as if acknowledging that there _might_ be someone more powerful than Roy — Levi doubts it, even though until this point he literally has had no possible grounds for comparison — as if the act of acknowledgement could make Roy any less powerful in any tangible way.

Moblit and Erwin share a look, undoubtedly and just for a second imagining their world with two alchemists on their side. Levi doesn't blame them. It's impossible not to consider it; with one alchemist they've turned the tide in an unwinnable war. What might they accomplish with two? Levi understands a little better the temptation that Roy presented to Pinzer and Military Command when he'd arrived, because now Levi is almost tempted to do something very stupid too.

Of course, when Pinzer had tried to take Roy, Roy had slaughtered more than three dozen of his people and left a section of the city a blackened, burned out shell. If Alphonse is as powerful as Roy claims he is, attempting to impress him into involuntary service will undoubtedly be a catastrophic failure, and therefore is really not even worth considering.

Moblit and Erwin both seem to have reached the same conclusion, or else Levi was wrong and they were never thinking about it in the first place, but in any event, Moblit doesn't say another word. Erwin looks like he's almost going to reach out and pat Levi on the shoulder, but comes to his senses at the last minute, and only says with a grimace, "I'm going to go start on the paperwork. I'll see you at dinner."

Moblit falls into step next to him as Levi starts walking toward the officers' barracks, where Levi intends to bathe very thoroughly. Fighting Titans always leaves Levi feeling filthy, even if all the Titan blood and guts evaporate.

"So, the tall one," Moblit says thoughtfully. "You think he's that Maes guy?"

Levi is unpleasantly startled. He had assumed, apparently for no good reason, that Maes was a secret Roy had not shared with anyone else. "Maes is dead," he says shortly.

Moblit's pace falters for a second, so that he has to step quickly to catch up to Levi again. "Huh," he says. He's quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he says, "I guess that makes sense."

Levi has no idea why it makes sense, but now he wants to hit Moblit too, almost as much as he had wanted to hit Erwin earlier. He manages, again, to successfully resist the impulse, though it takes more effort, because hitting Moblit has almost no negative consequences and is at least three-quarters as satisfying.

Moblit is predictably oblivious to Levi's inner struggle to avoid inflicting physical damage. "So who is he, you think? Boyfriend?"

Levi's hand actually twitches up of its own accord, before he forces it back down to his side.

Moblit must have caught the motion, though, because he holds his own hands up in surrender. " _Former_ boyfriend, obviously."

That is not much better. Levi's hand spasms so he shoves it into his pocket. "I don't think so." Roy had gone for Riza Hawkeye first, and though he'd been obviously happy to see the other man, Roy got the feeling he'd been even happier to see the Elric boy. But. Well. Not a former boyfriend doesn't mean not a former lover. Roy's had a lot of those, by his own account, and Levi's seen the way Roy draws attention to himself even when he's not trying. This other man's attractive too, tall and thin and ruggedly handsome, but not in an Erwin way; he looks looser and far less serious, just the sort that Roy might take to his bed for a quick tumble now and then.

And so what if he is? What if Roy had? Levi's got no claim on Roy's past. He probably doesn't have a claim on his future, either.

"The woman's Riza Hawkeye," he says, if only to dispel the churning unease in his gut. "Roy learned alchemy from her father. She works for him now, I think."

Moblit eyes glint briefly. "He’s mentioned her. I never could figure out their relationship. Another alchemist?

"No. Just a friend."

Moblit makes a small noise of acknowledgment, then turns his head sideways to glance at Levi. He chews at his bottom lip, but doesn't ask the obvious question, _Do you think Roy's going to leave with them?_

Levi supposes he's grateful for Moblit's unusual tact. Because obviously Roy's going to leave with them. Levi's always known that and Roy's been honest about from the beginning. He'd have left a long time ago if he'd been able to manage it himself. So of course he's going to leave. His friends came all this way to find him. He is certainly going to let them take him home.

It's all right, Levi thinks. He spent most of his life alone, after all. He just needs to remember how.

Levi steps into the sunlight to chase away the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this is a day later than my self-imposed scheduled would have had me publishing it, but work and real life convened in a nasty manner that just didn't leave me sufficient time. I am very sorry I left you dangling over the cliff for an extra day! It wasn't my intention. And ... now you know who it was at the other end of that flash. 
> 
> But we're still not done! Because nothing is easy with the boyz!
> 
> Art: Where's Levi? Well, he wouldn't fit, and honestly after finagling the four Amestrians into one picture I didn't have the time or energy to fit Levi in. Anyway, this is Roy's moment with his team, and possibly ominous if you want to take it as foreshadowing, not that I am telling you to take it as foreshadowing.
> 
> Beta credit as always to SapphireMusings, and I took her title suggestion too because it was too perfect.
> 
> Comments/kudos -- keep them coming! I love them! And after this week I could really use some cheering up.


	24. On edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I offer you some Valentine's Day angst and porn? :)
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy looks a little incredulous when he says it, but then he smiles, brilliant and breathless, and Levi wants to be happy for him, he _does_ , but it's hard when he is counting down every second to doom. How long does he have left before Roy leaves? For all he knows, they'll leave tomorrow. Levi's vision grays out momentarily and only Roy's hand on Levi's wrist keeps him steady.
> 
> Roy:  
> Watching Levi come undone like this is one of Roy's favorite things, because in every other moment, in every other circumstance, Levi is so much in control of himself. Even when he is battling Titans, maybe especially when he's battling Titans, when he's enraged and explosive and a whirlwind of violence, he is still always, at every moment, in control.

Roy doesn't come back to their quarters in the time it takes Levi to wash off and change into clean clothing. Levi beats the dirt out of his uniform with extra vigor and spit shines his boots until they gleam. Then, when Roy still isn't there, he heads to Erwin's office, where Erwin unceremoniously thrusts a stack of paperwork at him and tells him to make it look like Roy had gotten authorization to leave the city before terrorizing the gate guards.

What does it matter, Levi wonders. It's not like Roy will be around for long enough to face disciplinary action. But Levi takes the paperwork anyway, because coming up with a believable story for their unplanned excursion will keep his mind off things he doesn't want to think about. Mike and Moblit and Hange all come to retrieve him for dinner. Levi scowls at them. He's an adult and he does not need special handling. But all three of them stand there patiently outside his office until he shoves the half-completed report in a drawer and follows them sullenly to the mess.

Roy and his friends are sitting together at a table, half-eaten trays of food in front of them. The unidentified tall guy is still picking at his, so maybe they're still in the middle of dinner, which means that Mike and Moblit and Hange came to get Levi as soon as Roy and his friends appeared in the mess hall. This is obliquely irritating, though Levi isn't sure why. It's possible that everything would irritate Levi right now. (Moblit might say this is no different from any other day.)

The Amestrians are talking and laughing and apparently oblivious to everyone else in the room staring at them, thoroughly caught up in each other, and Roy's animated in a way he never is unless he's well on his way to getting drunk. He hasn't been drunk in months so Levi hasn't seen him like this in a while. It's weird, almost like watching a different person. Then Levi realizes he's staring, like he's trying to store up images of Roy for after he's gone, and that is creepy and depressing and makes his stomach twist, so he stops.

"Aren't we going to eat with Roy?" Moblit asks when they've gotten their trays and Levi is leading them to another table on the other side of the room.

"No."

Hange and Mike share a look.

"He hasn't seen them in a year and a half," Levi says. "We can give them a little time to themselves."

Hange and Mike share another look, and this one says, _they're going to have all the time in the world to themselves_.

Levi doesn't disagree with the look, but he absolutely does not have it in him to go sit at a table and smile at the people who have come to ruin the one good thing Levi has ever had in his life. He eats a few bites of food in sullen silence, and Moblit gingerly starts a conversation that has nothing to do with Roy or Levi or what the future might hold. He might as well be speaking Amestrian or one of Roy's other languages; Levi has no idea what Moblit is saying.

A few minutes later, after Levi has managed to force down a few more bites of a meal he doesn't particularly want, Roy skids over to Levi's table, grinning. He looks so _happy_. "Levi!" He nods at Moblit and Hange and Mike as an afterthought, but reaches for Levi's arm and pulls on it. "Come on," he says. "Let me introduce you."

Levi wants to demur, but Roy is tugging at him, still grinning, and Levi has several times over proved himself to be incapable of resisting Roy when Roy is looking at him like that. So he lets himself be dragged over to the table of people who are going to take Roy away from Levi, plastering on a smile that feels more like a grimace and hoping no one notices.

The Amestrians greet Levi with neutral smiles. "Levi," Roy says triumphantly. "This is Riza and Alphonse and Jean."

Ah, Levi thinks. So the tall man is Jean Havoc, another military colleague. Roy's mentioned him a few times, always with a flash of guilt or remorse in his eyes, though he's never told Levi any details and the way Jean had greeted him so enthusiastically makes Levi think that whatever had happened between the two men, Roy's the only one still struggling with it.

Roy turns to his friends. " _Das ist_ Levi _._ "

"Hello," Levi says awkwardly. He has no idea how to greet people in Amestrian. Roy's language lessons have never focused on basic pleasantries. Or, if they have, Levi has completely forgotten them. Levi is not a very good student. He still cannot figure out _the_. " _Ich … ich bin …_ um"—this is torture—"happy … um, _geluchlid_?"

All four Amestrians smile, more genuinely this time, then Roy says " _glücklich_ " with a laugh and a pat on the arm. "Close. It's almost the same. And they're happy to meet you too."

Roy's touch on Levi's arm is brief but familiar. Riza's gaze flicks sharply from Roy to Levi and back to Roy again, assessing. Then she rolls her eyes, sighs, and says something that Levi doesn't catch but makes Jean snicker and Alphonse gape a bit, glancing at Levi quickly, then away, like he doesn't want to get caught at it.

Roy goes unexpectedly red and mutters an answer.

Levi doesn't like being talked about behind his back, especially when it's happening right in front of his face. "What did she say?"

Roy goes even redder and clears his throat. His mouth works soundlessly for a minute before he manages an answer. "She said. _Ahm_. She said that I always find the prettiest ones."

It's Levi's turn to flush, and to be a bit astounded, because no one's ever accused him of being particularly pretty except for Roy, but Levi had always attributed that to Roy being a sentimental sap who is prone to flattery, especially when he's trying to have his way with Levi. Then his brain catches up. "You told her we're…" Whatever they are. Levi's not really sure because he hasn't needed to put a name to it before, but that is not the point.

Roy frowns at him briefly. "No," he says. "She always can tell only by looking at me. But I wasn't going to keep it a secret."

"I see."

Roy still looks slightly disconcerted. "Did you _want_ me to keep it secret?"

Levi scoffs. "No. I'm sure they would have found out anyway." Somebody would surely have told them even through the language barrier. Levi pictures Moblit making a particularly crude gesture, and grimaces. "And no. Of course I wouldn't want you to hide it. I just. I don't know." And he really doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. His thoughts are both too quick and too slow, jumping around in his head like crickets in a field. Levi doesn't like crickets.

The three Amestrians have been sitting patiently while Roy and Levi talk. Jean sifts through his bowl of stew picking out all the potatoes and carrots and ignoring every pea. Moblit would like him, a kindred spirit with a green-food phobia. Riza is buttering a thick piece of bread, but she keeps glancing at Roy every few seconds like she's afraid he'll disappear if she takes her eyes off him. Much as Levi stupidly resents her for it, he understands the impulse. After Pinzer, Levi had done the same for weeks.

Alphonse is ignoring his food altogether in favor of listening to Roy and Levi, face scrunched. He looks very young but also very focused, like he believes he could understand what they're saying if only he concentrates hard enough, and for all Levi knows, maybe he can. Roy has said there is no way to use alchemy to translate speech, but Roy has also said Alphonse is the strongest alchemist in Amestris and brilliant besides, so perhaps Alphonse has devised a translation array. If so, Levi wonders if it can be used both ways. And wouldn't that be strange, he thinks, to hear Roy speak in his native tongue and actually understand it, beyond the few nouns and verbs and adjectives Levi has managed to drum into his uncooperative brain?

"Stay," Roy tells Levi when Levi makes a move to go back to his table, which is safe in a way this table is not. "I got you an apple pastry."

Levi is too old and too cynical to be bribed by sweets. But he loves apple pastries and he's almost never in the mess hall early enough to get one. Roy has wrapped this one up carefully in a napkin, keeping it from touching anything else on the table. Levi could take the pastry and leave, of course, but that's not the point. The point is that Roy knew Levi wouldn't want to intrude, but Roy wants him to stay, and so Roy's giving Levi an excuse.

In the form of apple pastry.

Which is one of the best desserts the mess hall serves and absolutely one of Levi's favorite things.

"All right," Levi concedes. Roy sits down next to Riza, and Levi takes a seat on Roy's other side. He's rewarded with a blinding smile, the kind that takes his breath away. Roy's smiles — the real ones, not the fake ones that don't touch his eyes — make Levi's heart stutter every time, and it's ridiculous and it's pathetic and he is going to lose this and he's not sure how he's going to survive.

Roy slides the pastry over. The napkin is wrapped neat and tight, corners perfectly square and aligned. Roy is never this neat or perfect. He's always in a rush and he's a slob by nature. When he can be bothered to make the bed at all he just pulls the covers up and pays no attention to the sheets underneath. If the bedspread is on sideways he doesn't care, and he makes no effort to align the corners. But for this, for this stupid dessert that he knows Levi loves and never gets to eat because Levi never gets to the mess hall early enough, for this Roy has taken extra time and extra care.

Levi sits very still for a moment, waiting until he's sure his hands aren't shaking, and then unwraps the pastry. Roy stops talking as Levi cuts off a small corner, then flashes another brilliant smile as Levi takes a bite. "Good?" Roy says.

The pastry tastes like ash in his mouth. "Very good," Levi says.

The pastry's fine. It's Levi's sense of taste that's wrong.

Roy says something to his friends and they all laugh, but it's not mean and it might not have had anything to do with Levi at all, though Riza's eyes flash at him, sharp and assessing. Levi wishes he'd started learning Amestrian sooner and had put in more effort. It's disconcerting not knowing what Roy's friends are saying. Roy must have felt like this all the time at first. Levi thinks he never took seriously enough how isolated Roy must have felt back then. How he must still feel sometimes when too many people are speaking too quickly all at once.

Levi picks at his pastry, whittling it down bit by ashy bit. By the time he's choked it down past the lump in his throat, Moblit and Hange and Mike have wandered over with their trays, and Armin and Eren and Mikasa and Jean have taken up residence at the far end of the table. Somehow Roy is managing to keep the conversation afloat in two languages, translating swiftly back and forth. His Amestrian sounds rapid and smooth, and that's disconcerting too. Levi's grown used to the asymmetrical rhythm of Roy's speech; his slow, deliberate cadence; the way he hesitates when he's trying to find the right word; the way he still stumbles sometimes over the grammar.

Moblit, the son of a bitch, has somehow without lessons managed to pick up far more Amestrian than Levi's ever managed, and he might be trying to flirt with Riza, which seems to amuse Roy to no end. Riza is tolerating Moblit's undoubtedly butchered attentions, but doesn't have eyes for anyone but Roy. Alphonse and Hange are huddled together, their heads bent over a piece of paper covered with scribbled diagrams of what look like weapons that probably exist nowhere but the depths of Hange's imagination. Maybe Hange thinks Alphonse can create them with alchemy. Maybe Alphonse can. Jean — Jean Havoc, Roy's Jean, not Jean Kirschstein — is fiddling with a small box of something that Levi thinks might be cigarettes based on the illustration on the front. He looks a little antsy. Levi thinks he probably wants to smoke but doesn't want to go off on his own to do it, either because he's not sure he's allowed or because he doesn't want to leave Roy's side any more than Riza does. He too rarely takes his eyes off of Roy, and Levi wonders again exactly what he and Roy were to each other, if Jean had ever tried to fill the gaping hole in Roy's life that Maes left when he died.

Time passes, slow and steady like the ticking of a clock. The mess hall empties around them. People come and go, some bold enough to approach and be introduced, others just watching voyeuristically from the side. By now word has surely spread through the entire base; by tomorrow the entire town will know. Levi resents, perhaps unfairly, that his personal life is imploding in full view of everyone in Trost, and then he feels guilty for being bitter when Roy is so transparently happy.

If Levi were a better man, he'd be happy for Roy. But he isn't a better man; he's not even a particularly good one. He'd told Roy that right at the beginning, when all they'd had between them were a few hours of spectacular sex and a stubborn pheremonal attraction. Levi had tried to break it off then but hadn't been strong enough to hold to his convictions. He'd been jealous and he'd wanted Roy and he still wants Roy and he will _always_ want Roy, but it's too late to tell Roy now. Levi's selfish but not that selfish.

Mike and Hange disappear for a while and then return with some of their home brew, an interesting choice for guests. Maybe it's a deliberate throwback to that first night Roy arrived, when he got drunk on bad wine and accidentally dragged Levi out of a decade of celibacy and into a relationship.

Jean Havoc takes a sip of the wine and makes a face, but then he shrugs, downs the rest in a few gulps and holds his glass out for a refill. Riza sips at her glass more demurely, but watches Roy keenly when he takes one for himself. She appears surprised when he too only sips at his and her eyes flick to Levi consideringly. When she sees Levi watching her watch him, her expression doesn't change, and it's Levi who loses his nerve and looks away first.

Another hour goes by, or maybe two. Levi isn't sure. Time has not been passing linearly since the morning, when Roy had rushed headlong out of their quarters. To be fair, it could be the wine, of which Levi has drunk more than his fair share in the hopes that he will feel less shitty if he's tipsy. The wine hasn't helped. Now his head just feels stuffed with cotton and his balance is off and he still feels shitty and he's kind of afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll say something nasty to the goddamn fucking Amestrians. Which … well. See, even thinking that is problematic. Levi keeps his mouth shut and hopes that everyone will think he's just being his usual sullen self.

Armin has fallen asleep at the table, head resting on folded arms, and Eren is leaning against Mikasa, eyes half-closed; Jean is the only one who still looks vaguely alert, but even as Levi watches, he stifles a yawn. They're 14, Levi thinks as he does every once in a while, just to remind himself. No matter that they're soldiers, they're 14-year-old kids. "Go to bed," he says gruffly. Jean nods his head sleepily and manages a slurred "Yes, sir," then pokes Armin to wake him up, not meanly.

"I think I'll head to bed also," Levi says to Roy after the kids drag themselves out of the mess hall with drowsy 'good nights.' "It's late."

Roy's eyes flicker to Levi for a moment, indecisive, before he pushes himself to his feet in one fluid motion. "Wait a minute," he says, grabbing for Levi's wrist. "I'll come with you."

Levi frowns down at Roy's hand. "You don't need to leave just because I am."

Roy quirks a grin. "It's after midnight. We've been up"—he crinkles his forehead, which is not at all adorable; that's just the wine; Levi doesn't even _think_ words like 'adorable'—"I don't even know how long we've been up. A long time."

"Yeah, but your friends—"

"—will still be here tomorrow." Roy looks a little incredulous when he says it, but then he smiles, brilliant and breathless, and Levi wants to be happy for him, he _does_ , but it's hard when he is counting down every second to doom. How long does he have left before Roy leaves? For all he knows, they'll leave tomorrow. Levi's vision grays out momentarily and only Roy's hand on Levi's wrist keeps him steady.

Roy notices, of course, because there is very little about Levi that Roy doesn't notice. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I had too much wine." Levi doesn't lie to Roy, but if he tries to tell the truth right now, he'll choke on it. And it's not _exactly_ a lie. He did have too much wine, and physically he's fine, if he ignores the sick feeling in his stomach and the way heartbeat feels like the relentless ticking of a clock.

Roy frowns at him like he is fully aware that Levi's bullshitting him. Realistically he probably does. Roy doesn't lie to Levi as a matter of principle, but Levi doesn't lie to Roy because he's crap at it. Roy doesn't call him out, though, just keeps his hand solid and steady around Levi's wrist, thumb stroking lightly over Levi's pulse point. It feels flagrant, somehow, with Roy's Amestrian friends right there. Roy hardly ever touches Levi in public, which Levi had always attributed to Amestrian modest sensibilities; why is Roy doing it now?

Roy doesn't seem bothered by the Amestrians' regard, but just murmurs something to them, tone vaguely apologetic. "I told them we'd get them set up with some guest quarters," he says to Levi. "Erwin's probably had them prepared already."

Erwin undoubtedly has.

Roy jerks his head toward the door. Riza and Alphonse and Jean — Levi's going to have to start thinking of him as Havoc to avoid confusion — Riza and Alphonse and Havoc push themselves to their feet. Riza is quite graceful about it, but Alphonse grimaces and Havoc actually totters, more off-balance than three glasses of wine over several hours should account for in someone so tall. Roy lurches for him but Havoc waves him off irritably. "I'm good," he says, or so Levi thinks. Roy looks doubtful and then abashed, and steps back, face flushed with something that is a complicated mix of shame and guilt.

There is obviously a story there, probably one where Roy is taking blame for events that were out of his control. Levi would like to hear it …

… if Roy stays around long enough to tell it.

Nausea swirls in Levi's belly and for a moment he's afraid he's going to throw up all the shitty wine he shouldn't have drunk. But then Roy tightens his fingers around Levi's wrist and leans in close to breathe into Levi's ear, "It's an expedition night. I hope you didn't drink so much you can't celebrate properly." His breath is warm and his voice is husky and his fingers are like brands on Levi's skin.

Levi shivers involuntarily, and Roy hums into his ear, pleased and possessive, and there is no way that Riza and Alphonse and Havoc aren't seeing this, but right at this moment, for this instant at least, Levi cannot bring himself to care. If Levi had ever been able for a moment to resist Roy when he is like this, Levi wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place.

* * *

* * *

A little later in their quarters, having finally gotten a chance to bathe and breathe, Roy is methodically taking Levi apart. He is deliberate, slow and careful, and Levi is falling to pieces under Roy's meticulous ministrations. Watching Levi come undone like this is one of Roy's favorite things, because in every other moment, in every other circumstance, Levi is so much in control of himself. Even when he is battling Titans, maybe especially when he's battling Titans, when he's enraged and explosive and a whirlwind of violence, he is still always, at every moment, in control.

Except now. Now Roy licks a line up Levi's side, slow and smooth and easy, from just below Levi's hip bone all the way up past his waist, and Levi spasms. He lets out a little whine that makes Roy's cock jerk, but Roy ignores it, for the moment at least. His attention is all on Levi.

Roy moves up Levi's abdomen an inch at a time, tracing a path around taut muscle with his tongue, arriving finally at Levi's nipples, where he stops and plays for a little while. Levi makes a sound that's not quite human and twists restlessly, pushing his hips up.

"Mm mm," Roy says. He pushes Levi's hips back down and away, but in consolation digs his fingers into the muscle of Levi's inner thigh, hard enough to hurt. Levi draws in a shuddering breath and thrusts up again helplessly.

"So impatient," Roy murmurs. "There's no need to rush."

Levi mutters something incomprehensible that is almost certainly a curse and sinks back into the mattress, already sweaty and disheveled. His bangs fall into his eyes. He needs a haircut. Roy wants to be the one to give it to him, to have an excuse to run his fingers through Levi's hair. Just thinking about it makes something flutter in Roy's stomach, and he levers himself up, trails a few kisses on Levi's collarbone and then up his neck, and twists around so he can capture Levi's mouth with his own. This gives him the opportunity to card his fingers through Levi's hair, to stroke with his fingertips right at the ridge of the undercut. Levi moans into his mouth, which makes Roy's stomach flutter again and his cock pulse and thicken.

 _Not yet_ , Roy tells himself firmly, and tears himself away from Levi's mouth. Levi's eyes flutter open, dazed and drowsy, and he lets out a small soft noise of protest, but Roy is in control of himself, at least temporarily, and he doesn't dive back down no matter how inviting Levi's mouth looks. He kisses his way back down Levi's body instead, paying careful attention to all of Levi's most sensitive spots: he licks sloppily at the hollow at the of Levi's throat, uses his teeth to graze all around the edges of a small jagged scar that cuts diagonally across Levi's ribs, sucks hard enough to leave a hickey at the base of Levi's hipbone.

Levi is tense and trembling by the time Roy reaches his cock, hands fisted in the sheets, breath coming in ragged little gasps. It's a good look for him, Roy thinks. A little broken, a little desperate. "Easy," Roy murmurs, and if his breath gusts warm and wet over Levi's cock, well, no one ever said Roy wasn't a tease.

Roy takes a quick taste, bobs up and down once, twice, three times, then comes up for air and strokes a few times with his hand for good measure. Not enough to get Levi off, but enough to keep him on edge and shaking. Then Roy turns his attentions to Levi's balls, licking and barely hard enough to please, but not so lightly it tickles, running his tongue up and down the seam until Levi's squirming. Roy even uses his teeth; Levi jerks up and then falls back panting. "Fuck," he gasps, "fuck, Roy …"

Roy hums, satisfied. "Not quite yet."

Roy massages the insides of Levi's thighs, which makes Levi moan, licks around and into his ass, which makes Levi tremble and groan, then dives down again on Levi's cock, taking him in as deeply as he can without gagging, sucking hard.

"Fuck!" Levi jolts and drives his hips up involuntarily, but Roy is ready for it and holds him in place with one hand on his waist.

Back to Levi's balls, a little firmer this time. Roy wraps his hand firmly around the base of Levi's cock, squeezing until it softens just a little, then licks it again in apology. "Okay?" he asks, peering up.

Levi has one arm draped over his eyes and it takes him a moment to answer breathlessly, "You're killing me."

"Only a little." Roy licks Levi's cock again, then crawls up the bed and positions himself carefully. Levi's arm is still over his eyes and his chest is heaving and it's perfect. He's perfect. Roy has never known anyone so perfect in all his life.

Roy takes a breath and sinks down on Levi's cock in one smooth move, letting out a moan he couldn't have held in if he'd tried.

Levi's arm flies away and he stares at Roy, eyes wide. Roy smirks at him and lifts up a little, then pushes down, and … god, fuck, it feels … He groans, not on purpose, but it feels, it feels … they don't often do this; it's usually Levi on the bottom (though technically Levi's still on the bottom now, Roy supposes, pulling up and pushing down another time, oh _fuck_ ). Roy hears himself groan again, embarrassingly shattered, and tries to keep his thoughts if not his body under control, because this isn't for him, it's for Levi. Mostly for Levi.

Levi is panting underneath him, his hands fluttering like he can't figure out what to do with them, and he's staring up at Roy with eyes big and brown and blown. Roy grinds down with a grunt, then reaches forward to brace himself on Levi's shoulders and starts riding him in earnest. Levi's hands come to rest on Roy's hips as his breath leaves him all in a rush. It's like Levi can't catch it again afterward; every inhale sounds like it's stolen, every exhale a plea.

Roy's arms give out a moment before he thinks his heart will. He pulls himself off with a pang of regret and flips over onto his back, pulling Levi over and down for a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, wrapping his legs around Levi's waist so their cocks rub against each other, which is … _spectacular._ Roy could come from this, has come from this many times, but he doesn't want to come from this today. He wants to come with Levi inside him; wants it to be while they're connected. He wiggles his ass suggestively and tilts his hips up, reaching down to grip his cheeks and spread them wide and inviting.

Levi still looks vaguely astonished — has it really been so long since they've had sex like this, Roy wonders — but not unwilling. He grabs Roy's hips again and slides back in, letting out a long, filthy groan that Roy feels in every cell. Levi adjusts his grip and starts fucking him in earnest, first slow and firm and careful, but then hard and frantic, a rough and restless pounding that makes Roy gasp with every thrust.

Someone moans; someone curses. Roy's brain is not processing well enough to be sure who did what. Levi's groans grow louder until they're all Roy can hear, that and the slick sound of wet flesh sliding and slapping together and the dull thud of the bed banging against the wall.

Roy feels electric, like he's floating, like Levi's sweaty grip on Roy's hips is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. He's so hard it almost hurts. He reaches down to stroke himself and that is very nearly enough to bring him off, but he doesn't want to come yet, so he grips himself and squeezes tight.

Levi goes still for a moment. His arms are shaking, his hands are trembling, and he drags in a deep heaving breath. "Are you okay?"

Roy blinks the sweat out of his eyes and tries to calm the pounding of his heart. "Don't stop."

Levi huffs a sort of laugh. "Not planning on it." He lifts Roy's legs up and hooks them ever his shoulders, locking his arms around Roy's thighs and using them for leverage, driving back in deep. Roy grunts and breathes out, relaxing his muscles and angling his hips so he can take Levi deeper, and it's … it hurts and it's exquisite, and Roy is suddenly quite sure he _will_ have a heart attack if Levi doesn't finish this soon, even though he doesn't want it to ever end.

The energy in the room sparks and swells. Levi's eyes are wide and somehow glowing; he looks fey and alien and beautiful. Roy's entire body tingles, and soon it becomes overwhelming; with every thrust Levi's eyes burn brighter and the energy pulses until soon Roy feels like he's overflowing with it, like it's leaking out every pore.

It's too much. The energy here has always been too much and Roy's mostly learned to ignore it, but right now it's battering at him; it's choking him, he's drowning in it, and it's too much, much too much … he throws his hands over his head and taps his fingertips together; transmutation energy streams through his body, wild and unfocused. Roy slaps his hands down and releases a surge of power that does fuck knows what, but it eases the tension and Roy can breathe again.

"What the fuck was that?" Levi asks, pausing for a second, gasping for breath.

Roy can't speak to answer, and it's not important anyway. There's only one thing that matters right now. He pushes his ass forward with a growl until Levi gives up and starts fucking him again, rearranging his grip on Roy's legs and pushing forward harder and deeper.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Roy is chanting it nonsensically with every thrust; maybe he hasn't done this in a while not because it doesn't feel good but because it feels _too_ good. He's being split apart and his heart is pounding and his head is spinning and he's going to explode, and "fuck," he says again, "fuck, Levi, _please_."

He doesn't even know what he's asking for, but Levi will understand.

Levi bends forward and gathers Roy up until they can bring their mouths together, but it means he has to stop fucking Roy for a minute. Roy keens at him in frustration, whining into his mouth. Language feels like a skill Roy once had mastered, but has since lost.

His legs slide down off Levi's shoulders. Levi flips him over, pulls him up, and starts fucking him again. Not that it wasn't in earnest before, but it's … there's a purpose to it now, a goal, an _end_ , and Roy scrabbles to get his arms beneath him so he can push back to meet every thrust.

Levi bends forward over Roy's back and reaches around to grip Roy's cock. The jolt of pleasure is so strong, Roy loses his balance and crashes face-first into an absurdly plush pillow.

Levi thrusts in deep and _just right_. "Come for me," he orders.

And finally, blissfully, Roy does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Hope you are all having a wonderful one. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that also that you're not expecting this arc to be resolved in 30 seconds because it won't be. :) Not that I'll drag it out unnecessarily, but it'll take a little time to do it justice.
> 
> Thanks again to SapphireMusings for the beta and the chapter title. I'm so lousy with titles and she's so good with them. :) I don't take every suggestion because every once in a while I am inspired, but most often I am staring at that chapter title box like the evil little text box it is.
> 
> Art: What's that in Levi's hand? It's the apple pastry Roy wrapped up so neatly for him. And yes, in the text Roy actually slides it across the table, but you'll just have to deal with the inconsistency because I'm not changing the story to match the picture and I spent too much time on the picture to change it and whatever, it's just a picture. Don't stare too closely at Roy's hand on Levi's arm, either, k pls thx, as people used to write and probably don't anymore.
> 
> Comments: Oh my gosh, all the lovely comments on the last chapter made me SO HAPPY. I wasn't joking when I said I really needed it that day -- it was a bad day in the midst of a bad week, and I got four comments in maybe the first hour and I went to sleep much happier than I would have otherwise. I am grateful to everyone who takes the time to read and grateful to everyone who gives a kudos but comments make my day. All of you who have taken the time to leave one comment or many over the course of the story have my deepest thanks.


	25. The art of not coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after. Nobody's handling it very well.
> 
> Roy:  
> "Imposed? What are you … _Levi_ ," he says, panic licking at his gut. _Don't leave me_ , is what he wants to say, but that's ridiculous, isn't it? Roy is the one who's going to be leaving, because Riza and Alphonse and Jean have come to take him home. His stomach churns. "You didn't impose. You never do."
> 
> Levi:  
> It makes him stupidly jealous. The jealousy is especially unreasonable since Roy is going to leave, so being jealous will serve no purpose. If this were a battle, Levi would have already lost, but it's not a battle. It's not even a contest.

Roy awakens with a sudden, violent sneeze that chases away all hazy remnants of what he thinks was a particularly good sex dream. Roy had ridden Levi, and there had been some strange thing with transmutation energy, and maybe Levi's eyes had been glowing? The dream sex had been fantastic, at any rate.

" _Gezondheid_ ," Levi says, from Roy's right. He sounds amused, if only half awake.

Roy rubs at his nose irritably. He feels like he has to sneeze again, but rubbing harder makes the itch subside just enough so that he doesn't.

"Of all things to transmute," Levi says, yawning, "why a _verenkussen_?"

Roy's brain is operating at half speed, still distracted by his dream, so it takes him a minute to decipher the word. "Feather pillow?" He cranes his head to the side, which accomplishes nothing but making his nose itch more. "What?"

"You transmuted your pillow last night," Levi says. "Into feathers. Goose, I think. Would cost a fortune at the store."

Roy remembers feeling overwhelmed with transmutation energy, but the sensation has been so bizarre and fantastical, he'd assumed it was part of the dream. Having a bizarre and fantastical sex dream about Levi is not an uncommon experience for Roy. This one was unusually vivid, though, so perhaps it wasn't a dream, or not wholly so. He shifts slightly, experimentally, and his ass twinges in a very particular way, so at least _that_ part seems to have happened.

All the rest? It seems kind of doubtful that Levi's eyes were actually glowing. That would have been exceptionally weird. Even at his most sex-addled, that would have made Roy stop and take a breath. He thinks.

So, some of it was real. The ass-fucking, for starters. And he'd apparently been out of his head far enough to transmute a pillow, which he supposes isn't the worst thing he could have done, though it's distressing to think he'd done it by accident. The rest is foggy, at best. Roy strains to remember any other details from before they'd fallen into bed, and …

… memory slams into him all at once, brutally. It feels like ripping a bandage off his brain, breaking down a wall between everything that he's come to know as truth and everything else he's almost forgotten to want.

"Levi," Roy says, very calmly, although his heart is suddenly pounding in his chest. "Did we go outside the walls yesterday?"

Levi exhales slowly. "Yes."

Roy claws a breath into lungs that seem to have forgotten how to work. "That wasn't a dream?" He's had so many about being rescued, but when he wakes it's always clear that dreams were all they were. This feels real, even now that he's awake.

Levi's voice is oddly flat. "No."

They came, Roy thinks blankly. Riza and Alphonse and Jean. They came for him. He's going home.

He can't seem to process it. Roy stares up at the ceiling for a long time, but all the blinking in the world doesn't make the situation any less improbable. His nose itches. The itch is the only thing that feels real and solid. "Did I really transmute the pillow?"

Levi shifts in the bed, yanks the pillow out from under Roy's head, and shoves it in his face.

Roy sneezes again convulsively and bats the pillow away in a fit of self-preservation. "I'm allergic to feathers." His nose is going _crazy._

"Mmm," Levi says. "Feather pillows probably not your best idea then."

Roy has no excuse to offer. He doesn't even know how he did it. He had not previously been aware that he knew the alchemical composition of goose down, and if he did the transmutation with knowledge gifted to him by Truth that he can't easily access, returning the stuffing to something more sensible and less sneeze-inducing is going to be tricky. Maybe Alphonse can fix it, if he's—

Roy's thoughts stutter to a halt again. He blinks at the ceiling some more and rubs his itchy nose until his brain is somewhat back on track. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming?" he asks carefully.

Levi sighs and throws his arm over his eyes. "You don't usually sneeze in your sleep, so, pretty sure, yeah."

Levi isn't happy. Roy casts him a concerned glance. Levi isn't happy, and Roy's primary concern has gradually but inexorably become making sure that Levi is happy, or, if not happy, at least content. If Levi isn't happy, Roy can't be happy.

Roy _should_ be happy. Roy should be delirious. Roy knows this the same way he knows how to transmute oxygen. It is a fact that is beyond simple truth. Roy has wanted to go home since the moment he arrived here, and now he can; therefore, Roy should be happy.

If this is happiness, Roy doesn't recognize it. Admittedly, happiness is something he's never been very good at, but he knows there have been minutes, even hours, when he's been genuinely happy like a normal person. He thinks he'd been happy last night at dinner with Riza and Alphonse and Jean. He had thought so at the time, at least, but right now, Roy is kind of numb. He thinks he's probably just in shock. He had given up hope of getting home — too easily, it seems — and being confronted with the possibility of actually returning to Amestris is throwing him off balance. He's highly adaptable but not infinitely so, and faced with a large enough blow to his equilibrium, he needs time to compensate. The time varies with the strength of the blow. He is, for instance, still compensating for Maes's death.

"We should probably get up," Levi says. He could not sound less enthusiastic if he tried.

"We have time," Roy says. "I told Riza we'd meet them for breakfast at eight." His brain stutters again, for a shorter period this time. Riza. Is here. Riza and Alphonse and Jean are here. He doesn't understand why he feels so uneasy. He had been _happy_ last night, but now he thinks that might have been a product of the adrenaline and the excitement. Adrenaline and excitement probably explain the pillow too. He looks out the window, gauging the position of the sun by shadows. "It's just past seven."

Levi chews on the inside of his cheek. On anyone else it'd be a nervous tic, but Levi doesn't have nerves, so chewing on his cheek means something else. A ray of sun peeks through the blinds and hits him in the eyes; he grimaces and tilts his head to the side. The sunlight slides down his cheek and lands in the patch of hair over his ear, where some strands of gray have started to gain a definite foothold. Levi is just vain enough to care, so Roy's never said anything, even though secretly he finds it sexy.

"You should go without me," Levi finally says, face still turned away from the window and Roy.

Roy's throat goes tight. There are plenty of reasons Levi might want to avoid breakfast but none of them are good. He strokes Levi's arm. "I don't want to go without you."

Levi doesn't move, but there's a familiar stubborn set to his shoulders. "I _heb_ _opgelegd_ enough last night."

The words are not identical but they are close, and Roy is quite proficient by this point at translating words by pattern. "Imposed? What are you … _Levi_ ," he says, panic licking at his gut. _Don't leave me_ , is what he wants to say, but that's ridiculous, isn't it? Roy is the one who's going to be leaving, because Riza and Alphonse and Jean have come to take him home. His stomach churns. "You didn't impose. You never do."

Levi turns his head back, squinting in the glare. The sunlight makes him look like he's glowing. Roy remembers his maybe-dream-maybe-not-a-dream, Levi lit from within, eyes shining, skin practically incandescent.

"I won't force you," Roy says, which is stupid, because Levi never does anything he doesn't want to do, even for Roy. "But I'd like it if you came."

Levi's jaw sets. "I have to meet with Erwin."

 _Please come. This could be our last breakfast together,_ Roy wants to say, but just the thought makes him ill, and anyway, it won't be their last breakfast because he can't just leave all of a sudden. He has things he was doing, things he was working on, and there's mounds of paperwork to complete, and if he doesn't do it someone else will have to and that wouldn't be fair to ask of anyone; also he needs time to say goodbye to everyone, and the band is supposed to play in the tavern tomorrow night, and Mike won't be able to find another piano player on such short notice, and …

"Hey," Levi says, placing his hand on Roy's arm. "Breathe."

Oh, Roy thinks stupidly, because he hadn't realized he'd stopped. He tries to drag in a breath but it doesn't seem to work and he chokes.

Levi sits up, lithe and graceful, blankets pooling around his waist. The sun kisses his torso, outlines every muscle and the scars Roy could map out blindfolded. Roy wants to tell Levi how beautiful he is, but his chest is paralyzed so he can't draw in the air to speak. Anyway, Levi always seems to think Roy is lying whenever Roy compliments him. "Breathe," Levi repeats, frowning at Roy like he's done something wrong. "Don't make me hit you."

It takes a few seconds, but Roy manages to drag in a single breath, and after that it's easier. He breathes in and out a few times until it feels normal again, and then he just feels stupid. He's getting rescued. That's something to celebrate, not something to panic about.

Levi is still watching him, his expression tense and a little wary. He fingers are twisted in the blanket, and Roy remembers the dream-that-wasn't, the way Levi had clutched at the blanket and moaned, and how it had made Roy feel to make Levi sound like that.

"If it that's important," Levi says, voice slow and clear, like Roy is in need of careful handling, "then I'll come with you."

Roy feels pathetically grateful. He _is_ in need of careful handling, apparently. He doesn't do well with separation, and he doesn't need a psychologist to tell him it's because of the way he lost his parents, but knowing the why of it doesn't help. Nothing much has ever helped except Maes's steady presence and now Levi's. "Thank you," he says. _I love you,_ he means. He means it but he doesn't say it. They haven't said it to each other yet, not in words, and now it feels too late, like it'd be motivated by a deadline, not honesty, even if it might be the most honest thing Roy could ever say.

Maybe there's a tone in his voice, though, because Levi's eyes go momentarily soft before he shakes his head briskly, frowns, and pushes the blanket away. He flows out of bed naked and completely unselfconscious in a way Roy can never manage to be. Roy's spent too much of his life using his appearance to get what he wants not to be hyper-aware of what he looks like at every second; it's mystifying to him that anyone as handsome as Levi doesn't feel the same. Levi bends over to grab a shirt from the floor. Roy's mouth goes dry at the sight of Levi's naked ass, and he _wants_ the way he always wants Levi. His dick twitches because he is just that base. "I'll make some tea," Levi says. "You can wash up first. Leave me some hot water."

Roy manages a reply that is marginally coherent, but he stays in bed for an extra minute or two after Levi has left, just breathing, until he's sure he won't embarrass himself if Levi catches him on the way to the bathroom. He restricts his thoughts to the mountainous piles of reports undoubtedly waiting for him on his desk, everything that will have built up since he wasn't there yesterday, and doesn't let himself think about going home, because he's calmer but not exactly calm; a single stray thought could set him off again and he can't bear the thought of Levi having him to talk him down from two panic attacks before he's even gotten dressed.

But when he's in the bathroom pulling on a glove to heat up the bucket of water, he catches himself anticipating an actual shower once he gets back to Amestris, and has to fight against a sudden swell of nausea. He splashes his face with cold water to stave off the anxiety and stands in front of the sink, shivering with the chill and nerves. "What the fuck is wrong with you," he mutters under his breath, and waits in vain for an answer.

~

Levi isn't hungry for breakfast, but he eats anyway, the same way he eats every meal put in front of him no matter how distasteful. His mother did the best she could when he was a child, but the manager of the brothel didn't pay regularly or well, and sometimes stretches of days passed where there just wasn't any food. Kenny fed him somewhat more regularly when he'd been around, but he was often not around, and after he'd left for good, Levi had been completely on his own and being short and mean and scary didn't always translate automatically to getting enough to eat. So Levi eats out of habit, even though the food tastes like dirt in his mouth and sits in his stomach like lead.

While he eats, he watches Roy, who is sitting across the table, so that there is no way for Levi to subtly touch him. Roy is barely hanging on, clawing for normalcy in a situation that's anything but. His eyes are too bright, his face too animated. If Levi didn't know better, he'd say Roy was high.

Havoc says something and Roy laughs a little too loudly. He answers back in rapid Amestrian, words tripping off his tongue smoothly, one after the other, no stumbling or pauses to figure out how to say what he wants. It sounds no less foreign to Levi this morning than it had last night. He almost doesn't recognize Roy's voice, which doesn't make sense because he's heard Roy speaking Amestrian plenty, sometimes during sex when Roy gets particularly carried away, sometimes in his sleep, lately when Roy is trying to teach it to Levi and insists on having a "conversation" — which consists mostly of Roy speaking too quickly for Levi to understand and Levi saying, "what" over and over like an idiot. 

There is a small frown in the crease of Riza's forehead. She hasn't taken her eyes off Roy from the moment she'd walked into the mess hall, falling into step beside him automatically and sitting down on his right as if she was entitled to that spot even though that’s where Levi usually sits. Roy laughs again, still too loudly, and Riza's frown deepens. Of course she knows how crisply artificial Roy is acting; if Levi can tell than of course she can see it too. Levi has known Roy for less than two years. Riza's known him since he was 18.

It makes him stupidly jealous. The jealousy is especially unreasonable since Roy is going to leave, so being jealous will serve no purpose. If this were a battle, Levi would have already lost, but it's not a battle. It's not even a contest.

"Stop scowling, for fuck's sake," Moblit says. "We all know you're a grumpy bastard but they don't." Levi has no idea why Moblit is even sitting at this table, except that he keeps glancing at Riza out of the side of his eyes and smiling, and she has not pulled a weapon on him yet. Levi is very carefully not speculating on what that might mean. It's none of his business, except that if Riza slept with Moblit last night maybe it means that she is not interested in Roy romantically. Not that it matters if Riza _is_ interested in Roy romantically. She will get him back either way, and Levi won't ever learn exactly what their relationship is; he'll just be left behind to wonder.

"Seriously, stop it," Moblit hisses, kicking him under the table. "You look like you're about to murder someone."

Levi swallows and tries to school his face to a more neutral expression.

Moblit gives a small grunt that Levi supposes indicates approval, or at least that Levi no longer looks homicidal. "You're coming later, right?"

Levi has no idea what Moblit talking about, which isn't all that unusual since Levi rarely pays attention to more than half of what Moblit is saying. "Coming where?"

"To the match!" Moblit says, now looking at Levi like Levi is an idiot. Levi doesn't know when that became an acceptable action on Moblit's part. Levi used to be scary. Being with Roy has made him soft. Or at least, being with Roy has made other people perceive Levi as soft. If Roy leaves — _when_ Roy leaves — Levi wonders if he will regain whatever quality it was that made him scary, that he has somehow lost since becoming involved with Roy. Or was Levi's scariness never actually an intrinsic quality Levi possessed, but just a perception others had of him due to the way Levi always held himself a little apart? Is it possibly too late to return that wood sprite to its tree trunk?

Moblit picks at the remains of the breakfast roll on Levi's plate, seemingly unconcerned what the visiting Amestrians will think of his nonexistent table manners. "You know," he says, waving the stolen roll in the general direction of the other end of the table. "The match between Roy and, whathisname, the kid. Elfic."

"Elric," Levi says automatically. "Alphonse Elric. What match?"

Alphonse is sitting at the end of the table staring intently at two maps he has spread carefully out in front of him and doesn't react to Levi saying his name. One of the maps is of the area past the walls, near where the Amestrians arrived. Levi recognizes it from countless tedious hours spent with Erwin painstakingly poring over depictions of the known lands. The other map is unfamiliar, with what looks to be many streets and buildings, far denser than Trost. An Amestrian map of an Amestrian city, Levi supposes, though he cannot imagine why Alphonse would be comparing a map of a city on another world to a wasteland on this one.

"You know," Moblit says — stupidly, since Levi patently does not know. Moblit finishes the bread and moves on to Levi's barely touched potatoes and onions, which is even more disgusting than eating the leftover roll because Levi's fork which has been in his mouth has also been in his potatoes and onions. "He's going to spar with Roy. With alchemy."

Levi takes a breath, careful and measured. His hand clenches. "He's what."

"Hey," Moblit says after a minute of startled silence, during which he pries Levi's mangled fork from Levi's hand. "Okay. I guess he didn't tell you."

Levi looks down at the fork, which is bent nearly in half. "No," he manages, barely. He clears his throat and tries again. "No. But we. We uh, didn't really talk a lot. After everything, I mean. We came back and just went to sleep."

"Went to bed, you mean. You're still loud as hell when you fuck," Moblit says. Then, after a beat. "Why does it bother you that they're going to spar?"

"I didn't say it bothered me."

Moblit inches the destroyed fork forward on the table with the tip of his index finger. "The state of your cutlery suggests otherwise."

Levi manfully resists the urge to take the fork, whose tines are largely intact, and stab it through Moblit's hand. "I don't like it when you eat food off my plate," Levi says, which is not a lie, though it is also not a true answer to Moblit's question.

Moblit stares at him almost confrontationally, which, again, is something that never used to be acceptable and when did this happen? Moblit used to be terrified of Levi, and rightfully so. For one horrible moment, Levi thinks he has become _domesticated_.

"You spar with Roy all the time," Moblit says, gaze intent, like he is trying to reach into Levi's mind and figure out what Levi is thinking, which, _again_ , no. "He uses alchemy and you use your freaky Ackerman speed. How is this any different? You're not worried that the kid will beat Roy, are you?"

"No." Levi picks up his mangled fork and pokes irritably at his napkin as a substitute for poking holes in Moblit's hand. The napkins are cheap and the tines rip tiny holes everywhere they touch. "Alphonse probably will win. Roy says he's is the best alchemist in their world." _Their world._ The second the words leave Levi's mouth, he regrets having said them, and he stabs hard enough at the napkin that the tips of the tines stab into the heavy wood of the table. "But Alphonse won't hurt him. I'm not worried about that."

"Ah ha," Moblit says triumphantly. "Then you admit that you _are_ worried about something."

"No." This is not quite a lie, because he's not admitting anything, even though his stomach is tied in knots. But the anxiety is not because Roy is going to spar with Alphonse. Roy can hold his own against a half dozen Titans; he can certainly manage a friendly spar with Alphonse. It's just that it's only been a day. Less, than, really. This time yesterday they were still riding out looking for the alchemists Roy swore he could feel beyond the walls. Less than a day, and already Roy is going to be sparring with Alphonse Elric instead of sparring with Levi.

One sparring match with another alchemist, who can challenge Roy in a way Levi will never be able to, and surely Roy is going to remember how much he's missed having other alchemists around. He will remember how he belongs with Alphonse in Amestris in a way he will never belong here with Levi.

Which is a stupid thing to be worried about. Everybody knows Roy doesn't belong here with Levi. Levi has always known it. Roy doesn't belong here at all. He is from a different world and it's only natural for him to want to go home, and for Levi to want Roy to stay is just Levi being selfish. For Levi to _hope_ that Roy will stay is just Levi being stupid.

Under the table, Levi feels a nudge against his foot. He looks down reflexively and sees Roy's boot nudged up against Levi's own. The bump could be accidental, would probably be accidental if it were anyone else across the table, but Roy is always aware of the space around him and how he occupies it. He never trips over cobblestones or bumps into tables; the only time Levi ever sees Roy in less than perfect control of the interaction of his body with his environment is when he is disoriented and nauseated from the ODM gear. If Roy bumped Levi's foot, it was most definitely on purpose.

Levi bumps his foot back against Roy's, and Roy's eyes flicker over to Levi for a moment. He smiles briefly but sincerely, a little bit of tension easing in his expression. His spine softens as he relaxes. A little while ago, he was panicking in their bedroom. Roy hasn't had a panic attack for months. Levi nudges his own boot back against Roy's, earning another smile, warm and intimate. Then Roy turns his attention back to whatever it is Havoc is saying. Mostly it's incomprehensible, but if Levi concentrates, he can catch a few words here or there. Unfortunately, most of those words are expletives. Jean Havoc seems to have a bit of a foul mouth.

While Levi's attention is on Roy, Moblit takes the opportunity to give Riza a sappy smile, which she seems to tolerate. Then he turns back to Levi, scowling when he realizes he's eaten every bit of leftover food on Levi's plate. He slides the plate back in front of Levi and drops his fork on it. "So, you're coming to the match, right?"

Levi absolutely does not want to go. "Yes."

Moblit beams at him.

~

Roy throws a punch with no expectation that it will land.

It doesn't. Alphonse ducks easily out of the way and takes a single step back. "You're not even trying," he teases, in a way that is extremely reminiscent of his brother at his most irritating. It's disconcerting. Alphonse had always been the far more tolerable Elric. Either Alphonse has gotten worse over time or Roy's tolerance has dropped due to lack of exposure.

Roy is trying, in fact, but landing a hit on Alphonse is not an easy thing to accomplish. Roy doesn't think he's ever met anyone so jointly skilled in alchemy and hand-to-hand combat.

Well, except for Edward, of course, but Edward no longer has his alchemy, and Roy has not sparred with Edward using alchemy since Edward was just a boy, bright golden eyes full of adult rage set in a face that was still round with residual baby fat. Roy had beaten Edward then, but he thinks it would be a very different story if he were sparring with Edward now and Edward still had his alchemy.

Edward doesn't, but Alphonse does, and Alphonse trained with Izumi Curtis just as hard as Edward did. Back in Amestris, after the Promised Day, Roy would spar with Alphonse at Edward's stubborn insistence; Roy lost probably four out of every five matches, and even then Roy always suspected that he only ever won at all because Alphonse felt sorry for him. Roy has become a much better fighter since arriving here, mostly due to Levi's stubborn insistence, which might be a match for Edward's. At least, Roy thinks, today he's making Alphonse break a sweat.

Roy's last punch was a left jab so now he should hook right because that is the pattern Alphonse will expect. Roy would hate to disappoint Alphonse, so he does in fact hook right, and Alphonse steps back just like he should; Roy does not even come close to hitting him, but that was actually not the point at all. The point was the movement. He lets himself twist around with the force of the punch and brings his hands together; it's hardly a clap at all but the transmutation energy leaps to his call anyway, like it's eager to please.

He blinks, equations flashing through his mind like the back of his eyelids are chalkboards, and with a thought shifts the gases in the air into a geyser of water.

Alphonse is fast, but not so fast he can escape getting sprayed in the face. He curses a little more foully than Roy would expect — Alphonse really is coming to resemble Edward more and more as he ages — but he isn't as thrown as Roy had hoped, and delivers a competent spin-kick that Roy is unfortunately not quite quick enough to fully dodge. Levi is going to give him shit later. Alphonse's foot grazes Roy's stomach, which is still sore from an earlier blow Alphonse had landed under Roy's guard; Roy hisses and jumps back, irritated.

Their audience erupts into hoots and cheers.

Roy would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying himself. Sparring with the other members of the Survey Corps is fine, fun even. It's a good release, too, on the days he's trapped too deep in his head and can't get out of there on his own, especially now that he doesn't have the crutch of alcohol to help him stagger free. But fighting with his hands is never going to be his primary means of self-defense. That's always going to be alchemy.

No one else here is an alchemist, though, and sparring against them while using alchemy doesn't seem fair, unless it's Levi he's sparring against, in which case Roy needs every trick at his disposal. But even so, even when he's sparring against Levi, who at his fastest moves too quickly to see, who is inhumanly strong and fiercer than anyone Roy's ever met, Edward included — even when Roy's sparring against Levi, he doesn't _really_ use alchemy. Not like this.

Roy transmutes a spear on the fly out of out a convenient dead branch and hurls it across the ground. The spear is jagged and ugly but well balanced, and it flies straight and true. Alphonse pivots on his heel to dodge the spear and bends down, lithe and flexible, slamming his hands against the ground for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second is all he needs. His alchemy is fluid and instinctive in a way Roy's simply isn't, and Roy feels the warm current of Alphonse's transmutation wash over him, gentle and easy where Roy's own transmutations are always tinged with violence, reshaping the world by will and force. The earth rumbles and shudders under Roy's feet, answering Al's insistent call, and a wall arises where none existed before, with sharp corners and perfect edges and _bricks_. Roy very narrowly manages to leap to the side, keeping his balance with equilibrium honed by endless hours in the ODM harness and a fair amount of luck, but it's a close call.

Alphonse whistles approvingly at Roy's dodge. The last time they'd sparred, in another world and what feels now like another life, a very similar move had toppled Roy squarely and painfully onto his ass. He'd been bruised for a week and had to sit on a pillow. Riza had been silently annoyed at him the entire time and Havoc had teased him mercilessly with more ass jokes than Roy would have guessed existed. "Brother would be impressed," Alphonse says, scrambling nimbly up to the top of the wall.

Roy cannot take the time to respond, because he cannot let Alphonse use the advantage of height to attack again. He's mostly out of tricks and mostly out of stamina; he is not Levi with endless energy at his disposal, and some days he feels every single second of his 33 years as if he's lived it twice. He claps his own hands together and lets the transmutation energy gather, but holds it back instead of releasing it immediately, feeling it surge and build, bucking and straining against his efforts to hold it in. His body tingles and his hands itch, nerves crawling. He wishes he'd had more time to practice this trick. It feels a little like he's making it up as he goes.

Alphonse can undoubtedly feel the kinetic potential of the gathering transmutation energy and it makes him cautious. He watches Roy warily without attacking, crouching down, hands hovering over the top of the wall, ready to raise a defense against anything Roy might throw at him, but he's expecting a projectile of some sort or flame, conventional alchemy, because conventional alchemy is all that he knows, no matter that he doesn't need a circle to cast it.

Roy's attack is very thoroughly unconventional. He waits until the prickling sensation crosses the threshold from strange to unpleasant to painful, and then lets loose with a grunt of relief. The energy spills out in a rough unfocused stream, stronger than he'd anticipated, almost wild. He's done this before but on a smaller scale, and it's like the surge itself is fighting him. Roy can transmute oxygen in a 100-meter flare, but when he does, the transmutation itself dissipates most of the energy. He's not transmuting now, just hurling raw energy through the air, and keeping the stream coherent is much harder than he expected. The farther the flare extends the more difficult it becomes to handle; for a minute Roy's convinced he's overreached and the pulse is just going to disperse in a harmless shower, but then he wrests back control with a violent burst of willpower, grabbing hold of the energy in some manner he doesn't actually understand very well and _twisting_ it into shape. It's a success, resoundingly: the beam crashes into Alphonse and sends him flying backwards off the wall.

It's satisfying but exhausting. The effort leaves him dizzy and drained, and he bends over, breathing heavily and waiting for the stars to fade from his vision. Every muscle aches.

"Ow," he hears from behind the wall, but Alphonse's tone is mild. Roy's never met anyone who can take a hit better than Alphonse, as if all those years in the armor somehow imbued him with extra resilience.

"Are you all right?" Roy calls in a voice that is embarrassingly thready. He straightens up and staggers more than walks towards the wall. Obviously, this trick is not something to pull out in active combat, but he thinks it has potential nonetheless.

"Fine. Nothing bruised but my ego. You win, by the way." Alphonse's head pokes up over the edge of the wall. His hair is slightly mussed and there's a smear of dirt on his cheek, but his eyes are alive and sparking with curiosity. "What was that?"

"Energy surge," Roy says. He steps carefully around a group of squat stone mushrooms that Alphonse had created earlier. They are peculiarly precise and lovely, looking almost edible. Alphonse is incapable of transmuting anything less than perfectly even in the midst of battle.

"Huh." Alphonse's eyes go distant. He squats and claps, absently sending the mushrooms back into the ground without leaving the slightest scar to show they were ever there, something else he can do much better than Roy. "But how did you manifest it without a target? You didn't transmute anything."

"The energy's so much stronger here," Roy says. "Surely you've noticed."

Alphonse nods, picking his way over to a scraggly bunch of spikes: an earlier failed attempt of Roy's at throwing Alphonse off-balance. With a clap, Alphonse melts the spikes seamlessly back into the ground as if they'd never been there. Roy is not at all jealous at the ease with which Alphonse manages it. "It's distracting, actually."

Roy hums his agreement. "I'm used to transmuting over long distances. Longer here than I did before."

"Longer?" Alphonse sounds faintly astonished. He is busy repairing a particularly rough section of the training ground. It doesn't seem to occur to him to ask why Roy isn't helping, which is good, because Roy doesn't think he could transmute a pebble at the moment. "I've seen you throw flame 50 meters."

"I can do twice as far now. Hotter too."

Alphonse's soft noise of acknowledgement is not necessarily approving. Roy understands. His skill in fire alchemy won a war, but at a terrible, unforgivable cost that Alphonse has always found discomfiting enough to pretend to ignore, maybe because he is inherently a pacifist, or maybe because if Roy goes rogue, Alphonse is the only one in Amestris powerful enough to stop him. Roy getting even stronger cannot, from Alphonse's perspective, be entirely a good thing.

"It's the energy here," Roy says, both to comfort and because it is true. "I'm not sure I could do this at home." And then he twitches, discomfited himself, because calling Amestris 'home' sits poorly with him now. He stiffens his shoulders and straightens his back, fighting hard against the fatigue. He kind of wants to curl up in a ball and go to sleep, right here on the ground that Alphonse is efficiently putting to right. If this surge technique is ever to be a feasible weapon, he'll need to figure a way to counteract its enervating effect, which Roy suspects has something to do with keeping the energy contained for so long before releasing it. "Here, there's just so much of it and it's so … so present. I don't know. Thicker, maybe." The word's wrong, but he's not sure he knows the right one. It's a familiar feeling to be fumbling for words, only strange because he's speaking Amestrian. "I thought I might be able to use it in its raw form. It's possible, but not easy."

"Ed would have a field day," Alphonse says, peering up at him from where he is crouched down. His eyes on Roy are sharp and assessing. "I'm not sure he'd like the side effects, though. Are you all right?"

Roy feels a little like he's about to faint, but he just shrugs and says, "I'm fine."

Alphonse looks vaguely skeptical, but he doesn't press. His high tolerance for people understating their exhaustion probably comes from so many years of living with Edward, who would admit to illness or weakness only if he was on his deathbed, and perhaps not even then.

"You know," Alphonse says, surveying the wreckage of the practice grounds with his hands on his hips and his lips pursed in a small frown, wondering what to fix next, "I've tried flame alchemy. It's a lot harder than you make it look." He heads off to the next scene of disaster, a set of massive stone pillars, arrayed like steps, from the top of which Alphonse had earlier hurled several particularly destructive projectiles.

Roy can't decide whether to be flattered or apprehensive. "You have?"

"Mmm. Ed was curious, and he can't do it himself anymore, so …" Alphonse shrugs. "He had one of your spare pair of gloves that he stole years ago, and I studied the array until I thought I understood it, but I, uh, I couldn't get the oxygen balance right."

Roy sits, unexpectedly, not because he wants to but because his body has decided on its own that standing is no longer feasible. The ground is rocky beneath him and not particularly comfortable. He'd stripped down to his undershirt for the match and it's soaked through and filthy. Sour sweat is drying on his neck, and he feels sticky and still disconcertingly drained. Maybe trying the energy surge after dozens of earth and stone transmutations had not been the best idea. "The array's just a guide," he says, wiping his forehead with a grimace. "Not a recipe. Flame alchemy is a lot more mental than most transmutations."

Alphonse hums. "A lot more complicated too, I think. I'd never really appreciated how difficult working with gas is until I almost burned my eyebrows off."

Roy stares at him. "You … you did practice with oxygen first, right? You didn't actually start with the gloves and try to ignite it … ?" Alphonse is supposed to be the _sensible_ Elric.

"We cleared out everything flammable first," Alphonse says, a bit abashed. "Mostly."

Roy is nearly speechless. " _Alphonse_."

"Ed said it would be easy!"

Roy supposes that Edward actually said something like, "Come on, Al, if that dumbass can do it, how fucking hard can it be?" But Alphonse is here and doesn't seem to be disfigured, so Roy just sighs and leans back on his hands. "No major property damage, I hope."

Alphonse looks a little shifty. "Nothing we couldn't fix," he says, which actually means very little coming from Alphonse Elric, who is cleaning up the wreckage of the training grounds without paying any attention whatsoever; it's almost magical, the way he claps his hands and things just seem to melt themselves back into order. "But seriously, General, I had no idea how many variables you're accounting for all at once."

"It gets easier with practice." In truth, though, Roy has never really had to work at it and his practice has only ever been to improve his range and precision. Flame alchemy made sense to him from the beginning, and though he probably could still write out the equations if he really had to, as a practical matter his gas transmutations are all instinct.

"Hmm," Alphonse answers neutrally, in that polite way he has when he disagrees but doesn't want to say so out loud. He straightens. "At any rate, we destroyed the gloves. Brother decided they were too dangerous to leave around. The array is too tempting to risk it falling into the wrong hands." And then he makes a weird sort of frown, like he's annoyed at himself for making a pun unintentionally.

Roy chuckles a little bit, more at the irritated look on Alphonse's face than the bad joke. He can't argue the decision and mostly is just relieved. Flame alchemy is a power the world is almost certainly better off without. Both worlds. Roy has never even considered taking on a student. The opposite, really. He considers it his duty to take the secret to his grave. He'd been a good man before he'd turned himself into a weapon; ten years later he's not sure he's clawed his way back to good, but at least he's trying. He wouldn't wish this particular burden on anyone else. Master Hawkeye had the right idea.

The ground shakes. Roy twists his head around too quickly and has to blink to clear his vision, then is gifted with the sight of Moblit loping towards him, grinning. Levi is behind him, walking, a slight scowl furrowing his brow, probably because he can tell how exhausted Roy is and it's ticking him off. "That," Moblit yells, when they are just close enough for the sound to carry, "was _awesome_."

Roy grins despite himself. Moblit's enthusiasm has always been contagious. And it really _had_ been awesome. More awesome than he remembers it being. Maybe that's because he'd won.

"What was that thing you did?" Moblit asks, stumbling to a halt in front of Roy, who's still seated somewhat uncomfortably on the ground. "With the, the"—he flings his arm out and twists his wrist in some motion that Roy supposes is a gross approximation of Roy's attempt to control the energy surge—"the whatever the hell that was, you just knocked him right off the wall! Did you throw an invisible spear at him?"

Levi ambles up just in time to hear this. He flicks Moblit in the head. "An invisible spear? Don't be a fucking idiot."

Moblit ignores the head-flick and the verbal abuse. "And those, those mushroom things Alphonse made! They weren't there one second and then the next second they were! I thought you were going to break your neck!"

Roy suppresses a frown. He supposes he had looked a little clumsy, and he'd definitely flailed a few times to keep his balance, but he hadn't been in any danger of actually falling.

"And when you made those daggers!" Moblit looks like he is about to burst. Levi meanwhile has come around to where Roy is sitting. He stands above him for a moment, glaring, then sits down next to him and peers at Roy intently. If it had been anyone else, Roy would have flinched away from the stare, but he's used to Levi staring at him and usually enjoys it, although less so when Levi's eyes have this particular flavor of slight hostility. Levi gets pissed off when Roy overdoes it. Moblit is of course oblivious. "Those daggers were _fucking awesome._ "

Roy had been very proud of the daggers, as metal alchemy is not his forte. Not that his daggers compared to Alphonse's, but then again, not even Edward had been able to match Alphonse's proficiency with metal.

"The daggers were stupid," Levi grumps. He has stopped staring at Roy, but hasn't risen to his feet either. They are inches apart and Roy can feel Levi's body heat radiating through the space between them. Or maybe that's just Levi's irritation, which can be tangible at times. "Maybe if you'd been sparring against shithead here"—Moblit interrupts with an offended 'hey!'—"but I saw the kid's daggers, and they were longer and sturdier than yours."

Roy chooses not take that as a phallic metaphor. "Yeah, but he's the best metals alchemist in the world."

"Right," Levi says. "That's my point. And there's no fucking way you didn't know that, so wasting your energy on that was stupid. You were just showing off."

Alphonse has silently slipped away from the quarrel and is repairing the remaining damage to the field. It'll probably look better when he's done with it than before they started. Moblit follows him, chattering excitedly at him as if Alphonse could understand.

"I wasn't showing off," Roy says. Although he might have been a little bit, because he'd known he was being watched and he's vain like that. But not much. Not enough for saying he hadn't been to count as a lie. "I don't get many chances to do those sorts of things here."

Levi falls silent, frowning slightly at the dirty ground like its existence is offensive, which it probably is. Levi resents dirt even in its natural habitat. "Thought you were going to faint," he says eventually. "Haven't seen you that green in months."

"I wasn't sick," Roy says. "It was only that the alchemy at the end was harder than I expected."

Levi's frown deepens. "I've never seen that trick before."

"It's only something I'm playing with," Roy says. He grimaces and holds his hand up so Levi can see how much it's shaking. "It doesn't seem very, _ahm_ , _praktisch?_ Something that will work when you do it, not just when you think of it."

"Practical. Same word," Levi says. He still looks profoundly irritated, and shakes his head. "Why the fuck," he mutters, though exactly what he's questioning is unclear. Roy's stupidity, possibly, or his stubbornness, or just his general existence. He grabs Roy's hand and starts massaging it, which Roy thinks will accomplish exactly nothing, but Roy will never turn down a massage from Levi or any touch from him at all. Roy sometimes imagines he can feel Levi's power humming through his skin. Levi thinks he's crazy and that Roy just likes getting groped, but it never stops Levi from touching Roy anyway.

Riza approaches with Jean. They are walking slowly and carefully across the uneven ground, Riza with a hand subtly on Jean's elbow providing just a bit of extra balance. Roy has to swallow the guilt that rises reflexively in his throat at the sight, and he must not do a very good job of masking it, because Levi's fingers start digging harder into Roy's palm, and that's … better, actually.

Jean is grinning widely, and either doesn't notice Riza's hand on his arm or doesn't care enough about it to tell her to stop. "Nice job, Chief. I was sure he was going to nail your ass."

Roy flips him off out of habit with his free hand. He doesn't pull his other hand out of Levi's, and Levi hums quietly in approval. Roy has been making an effort not to be so self-conscious about public displays of affection, not that anyone else seems to care at all about whose hand Roy is holding and when. That's all Roy's own hang-up to deal with.

"It's good to see you haven't lost your touch, sir," Riza says mildly.

Next to Roy, Levi has stiffened slightly, his jaw set tight. Since it's very unlikely he understood what Riza said beyond the words 'good', 'see', and 'you,' his irritation is just directed at Riza generally. Which is stupid. Riza can't have done anything for Levi to get irritated with except exist and take some of Roy's attention. It can't be that Levi is jealous … well, Roy amends in his head, Levi could well be jealous, but that would still be stupid, because Roy's made it clear repeatedly that he has never been interested in Riza romantically, that he thinks of her like a sister, and that Riza's feelings towards him in turn are complicated and not really platonic but definitely not romantic. Roy loves Riza and Riza loves Roy but they are not now nor have they ever been in love with each other.

Levi is well aware of this. At least, Levi should be well aware of this. So, Levi should not be jealous. Maybe he isn't; Roy could be misinterpreting the tension he sees in Levi's spine, the slight tingle of hostility that Levi is radiating out, the possessive grip with which Levi is clutching Roy's hand.

Roy squeezes Levi's hand with fingers that are still trembling slightly from fatigue, and Levi's breath catches just slightly before he squeezes back.

Riza notices, of course, because she is Riza Hawkeye and she notices everything. Her eyes flicker away for a second and her weight shifts imperceptibly to her heels as she roots into the ground, but her expression remains neutral and pleasant. If she is irritated with Levi, or jealous for that matter, she's keeping it to herself.

Jean doesn't notice any of this because Jean might be able to rival Moblit for obliviousness, at least when it comes to emotional undercurrents, even if he is astutely observational in every tactical context. He pats in his pockets and produces a pack of cigarettes, shakes one out and lights it, letting out a contented sigh as he takes a deep drag. The smoke leaks out from his lips in a thin grey stream, the scent acrid and familiar; Havoc still smokes that cheap Aerugan shit, apparently. Roy's hands twitch, and before he knows it, he's asked for a cigarette.

Jean smirks as he hands it over, because he knows how much Riza hates it when Roy smokes, and lights Roy's cigarette from his own. The smoke fills Roy's lungs and it's acrid and horrible and fantastic all at once. He breathes out, then takes another deeply satisfying terrible inhale, ignoring the way both Riza and Levi are scowling at him. "They don't smoke much here," he says, tilting his head back to let the smoke escape, making sure to turn to the side so that it blows away from Levi. "I haven't had a cigarette since I arrived."

Jean looks briefly horrified and stares off into space for a moment, no doubt calculating exactly how carefully he's going to have to ration his remaining packs for his time here. Roy has never been a big smoker, but he'd started filching the Madame's cigarettes when he was very little, and it had turned into kind of a game. If he'd been able to find a pack where she hid them, she let him have a smoke. He hadn't realized how much he's missed the itch and tickle in his throat until now.

"You shouldn't smoke, General," Alphonse says, appearing from nowhere with Moblit at his heels. "Brother says it's bad for your lungs."

Roy eyes him placidly, then takes another slow, long and deliberate inhale, making a show of it. "It cannot possibly be worse for my lungs than all the smoke and dust I breathed in during the war," he says. He blows out smoke. "It's just one cigarette, Alphonse."

Alphonse frowns but doesn't do anything like try to take the cigarette out of Roy's mouth, which is one of very many ways he is a better human being than his brother.

Moblit appears to be fascinated by the sight of Roy smoking.

"Do you want to try?" Roy asks, offering the cigarette.

Moblit blinks at him and then, oddly, turns to Levi, who looks back with an expression that is slightly more homicidal than usual. "I … no," he says. "Probably shouldn't. Don't really want to develop an expensive habit." He scuffs his shoe in the dirt, turning over pebbles and dust. He flicks a glance at Levi, then sets his jaw firmly and settles his weight in his heels, almost in battle stance. "So, when are you going back?"

Levi jerks and glares at Moblit, furious, but Moblit stands his ground, though he takes a step to the side as if the extra half a meter would save him if Levi decided to kill him.

Roy takes another long, slow inhale of his cigarette, hoping his hands aren't trembling and that nobody can see the jackrabbit pace of his pulse. His stomach is twisting. Whenever he considers going home, he starts to panic. It's been happening all morning, the first time before he'd even gotten out of bed and then on and off through breakfast. The spar with Alphonse had been enough to distract him, but only for so long as it had lasted.

The cigarette smoke bites but is soothing, and he holds it in for as long as he can before letting it slip out through his lips in a small gray stream. "Not for a few days, at least," he says eventually. "Alphonse needs to figure out where we are. Not where we are _here_ , but how this place matches to Amestris. He's been looking at the maps but the … the match isn't exact. He needs to find a safe spot to open another, _ahm_ , portal? Like a door?"

Alphonse had spent most of breakfast describing how he and Edward had analyzed the array (which had been made much more difficult due to the large sections that had been rendered illegible with scorch marks "… not that anyone could blame you for that, General," Alphonse had said, although Roy was certain that Edward, at least, had very much blamed Roy) and then backward engineered a reverse array to allow transport in the opposite direction. The alchemical disturbances Roy had been feeling for the past several months had apparently been Edward and Alphonse perfecting their arrays and mapping out safe spots for crossing back ("So you don't open a portal in the middle of a wall or 50 feet in the air," Jean had said helpfully, "and everybody helped, sir; we even got Falman back to Central for it, and Sheska helped too. She's great with maps.")

"Portal is the same word," Moblit says slowly, although his brow is crinkled. He glances between Roy and Levi then draws in a deep breath and plasters on the fakest smile Roy has ever seen on another human being. "A few days," he says. "That's great. Congratulations."

Levi's hand is still wrapped around Roy's own, gripping hard enough that Roy knows he'll have small dark bruises come tomorrow morning. He wonders if they'll last long enough that they'll still be there when he goes back to Amestris. His stomach clenches hard again and his heart starts to pound. The cigarette is almost gone; Roy drags in a deep breath in an attempt to let the smoke calm his unruly nerves. It doesn't work. "Thanks," he says, and hopes no one can hear his voice shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late but not a dollar short? Meant to post yesterday but I was so tired I was falling asleep while editing. Went to bed rather than risk posting with many egregious typos. This chapter is basically just an excuse to have Roy spar with Alphonse and do something really cool. And maybe you think it's absurd, but they're manipulating this energy without ever really explaining how, and we know Scar could stop a transmutation halfway, so why can't Roy stop it even before that? Maybe not in Amestris, where I am claiming that the planet's transmutation field is more diffuse and weaker, but on Paradis? Sure, why not? Hand waving all around!
> 
> I'm not going to drag this arc out forever, promise, but there's still a little more angsting still to get through. ;) And Roy and Riza really need to have a talk.
> 
> Art: Roy doing the really cool thing. And the mushrooms. It's not a precise depiction of what happened in the scene, but close enough.
> 
> Thanks as always to SapphireMusings for the beta and for nudging me to fix the last scene.
> 
> Comments: please, if you have a moment. I appreciate every one more than you can possibly imagine. Otherwise I start to worry no one is left reading this thing! :)


	26. One day it's fine and next it's black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised: Roy and Riza talk. And talk. And talk. A huge chunk of this chapter is Roy and Riza talking. But it's been 18 months so they're entitled. 
> 
> Roy:  
> "I don't know," Roy says helplessly, not because he doesn't; he does. He knows it down to his bones. If what he feels for Levi isn't love, then it's something stronger and more implacable for which he doesn't even have a word. But he can't say it first to Riza, and it's too late to say it to Levi.
> 
> Levi:  
> Roy hasn't needed careful babysitting for months, but Levi wants to reach out and press down on Roy's restive fingers anyway, to give a little of the tactile comfort Roy always responds best to. But Roy's still funny about touch in public so Levi rarely initiates it, and with Riza tucked in close on Roy's other side, Levi's no longer certain of his place.

After the match with Alphonse, everyone disperses. Moblit goes off with Alphonse and Jean in tow: Jean is off to the armory, where Roy is sure he will become instant friends with Markel, lack of a common language notwithstanding; Markel's appreciation for guns and other weaponry may be even greater than Jean's. Alphonse is headed to Erwin's office to pick up some maps that have more detailed renderings of geographical features and a more uniform scale. Levi heads for his own office to start on the reports from yesterday's journey outside the walls, which he has told Roy will take all day. He says he'll come to the mess hall for dinner but doesn't expect to escape for lunch. Levi finds writing reports a miserable process and he is much slower about it than Roy, so it might actually take him all day, but Roy can't discount the possibility that Levi is using the reports as an excuse to avoid the other Amestrians. Roy's stomach clenches uneasily and he has to fight the urge to run after Levi and make him promise to come to lunch after all.

Levi would probably come if Roy asked, but …

… Levi had looked so miserable at breakfast, and Roy knows it is his fault and also that there is nothing he can do about it; in a few days Roy will be gone and Levi will be alone. Roy needs to trust that Levi can take care of himself, because he'd managed fine for all the years before Roy had come, and Levi is so strong; he's the strongest person Roy has ever met …

… except Levi had looked _so_ miserable at breakfast, and he is different now than he was before Roy arrived; even Roy, who's only known him for a year and half, can see the changes in him. He's slower to anger and quicker to smile. He's sleeping a little more and cleaning a little less. He came to Dirk's birthday party without complaining once and he knows the names of everyone on their floor; Roy heard him whistling the other day when he was polishing his boots, and the tune was one of the songs Mike had composed for Roy's band to play at the tavern.

"Are you alright, sir?" Riza's voice is soft but calm, and her touch on his arm is familiar and soothing.

"I'm fine," Roy lies, regulating his breath by force. Roy doesn't lie to Levi but he has fewer compunctions about lying to Riza. Riza has always been able to see right through his bullshit anyway.

Levi is a small brown figure at the other end of the practice field. Roy keeps watching until his shape has blurred to the point that Roy's poor vision can't make him out. Then Roy turns to Riza with a smile that's at least half genuine and says, "Come on. I'll show you around."

Their route is slow and meandering and takes the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Roy remembers his own first tour of the base, still wearing his Amestrian uniform and hardly understanding a word Levi said, fighting a pervasive anxiety with every step through a then-unfamiliar and terrifying world. "This is the infirmary," Roy says when they pass it. _Ziekenboeg_ , he remembers Levi saying. It had been almost all nonsense syllables to him then. Roy's not even sure that's the word Levi had used or if Roy has superimposed his later certain knowledge of the word over his recollection of that morning. Memory is funny that way, sometimes sharp in the outline but blurry in the details, repainting pictures of the past until the misremembered moments become clear and certain, etched incorrectly in the architecture of one's brain.

They grab a late lunch from the mess hall and eat outside at a shaded table. Riza attempts to summarize everything Roy's missed while he's been gone, very little of which is surprising except, "They got _married_?"

"Yes, sir. This past January."

"And she's already pregnant?"

"Yes, sir. The baby's due in another month. I think he might have come with us otherwise. But Alphonse was quite insistent that Edward shouldn't risk missing the birth."

Roy is having a lot of trouble with the idea of Edward Elric being married, much less about to become a father. In Roy's mind, Edward is still a 13-year-old hotheaded brat. "Are they even old enough to get married?"

Riza looks at him disapprovingly. "They're both 18, sir. In the country, people often marry even younger."

Roy knows this, but nonetheless, he now feels absolutely _ancient_. "It still hardly seems old enough," he grumbles. He crumples up the wax paper from his sandwich and places it in the paper bag they'd used to hold their food. Riza more neatly folds her wax paper into a square as perfect as any of Levi's. "Would you hold it against me if we stopped into my office for a few minutes? I've got some paperwork I should have taken care of yesterday, but didn't."

"Of course not, sir," Riza says with a nod. Roy thinks it's going to take a little while to get used to having people routinely calling him 'sir' again. Hannah will let it slip occasionally, but no one in the Corps is as enamored with the word as Riza is, and the military here is, in general, far less concerned with rank than the military in Amestris.

When Roy sees the stack of paperwork on his desk, he mentally amends his estimate of exactly how long it's going to take him to go through it all. "I was only out for a day," he says helplessly when he sits down. He can hardly see over the pile of paper.

"It was a busy day," Hannah says blandly. She dips a pen in the inkwell and hands it to him along with the top document. "The first five are all invoices, so they won't take long."

The first five don't take long, but the next three are reports, not invoices, and Roy has to actually sort of read them, at least enough to get the general idea of what they're talking about in case anybody ever asks. The last of these is a report from Ruth about the tensile strength of some lumber beams they are planning on recycling, and the terminology is difficult plus Ruth's handwriting is abysmal. Roy sinks down into the report and only looks up again when he hears Pieter complaining.

Roy rubs his eyes. "How much?"

"Thirty gulden," Pieter says.

"For all of them?"

"For each," Pieter corrects, pointing to an inked-up spot on the contract in front of him that Roy can't possibly see from across the room.

Roy is outraged. "That's ridiculous."

Pieter shrugs. "They're just trying to make a living, sir."

"By stealing from the Corps," Roy says grumpily. He squints back down at the lumber report. It's mid-afternoon so glasses are at least two hours out of the question, and also there is no way Roy is putting on glasses where Riza can see him, even though she's already seen him in the goggles. Anyway, he can mostly read what's on the paper. At least he can see well enough where he's supposed to sign. He scrawls his name, quickly and messily, and Hannah deftly slides the report to the side while simultaneously slipping another one in its place.

She waits patiently for him to struggle through the summary regarding the installation of a double-size lounge on the officers' floor in the new dorms, then gives him yet another document, this one printed in Mike's messy scrawl, which means it's probably a requisition for furnishing the music room that Mike has been talking about setting up for two months.

Roy trusts Mike implicitly, and Hannah wouldn't have given the form to Roy unless the request were reasonable. Roy signs the paper without reading it and turns back to Pieter. "You didn't pay 30, did you?"

Pieter looks offended. "No sir. Gerrit told me I shouldn't pay more than 20."

"Eighteen," Gerrit says, without looking up from where he has his nose buried in a ledger, ticking off items one at a time. Roy thinks it's a furniture listing for the residential quarters. The list is very long; it takes a lot of furniture to supply the dorm. "I said don't pay more than 18."

"Eighteen would be insulting. Plus we're only buying 500, and the Corps can afford an extra 1,000 gulden." Pieter says this quite confidently, even though the budget is Roy's concern, not Gerrit's, and three months ago Pieter could not have multiplied two by 500.

"You could have gotten them to accept 18," Gerrit says. He bends down even further over the ledger, scowling at something he sees written inside it, then wrenches himself up and collapses back into the chair with a sigh, rubbing at his neck. He pushes the ledger away. "You would just have to stand there and _doemen_ over them."

That word is unfamiliar to Roy. " _Doemen?"_

"To stand over someone," Hannah says. She taps a finger meaningfully on the paper Roy has not yet signed. "If you're taller than them, it's threatening."

Roy dutifully signs the paper. "Oh. _Drohen_." At the empty desk in the corner, Riza's head twitches around from where she has been staring out the window over the courtyard, waiting patiently for Roy to do all the work he promised her he wasn't going to do when he said they were going to stop into his office. If she is annoyed that her afternoon has been hijacked by the very mundane reality of Roy's daily life on the base, she doesn't show it. She just smiles at him indulgently and turns back to the window.

Having Riza in the office is disconcerting. When Roy had dreamed of rescue, he'd always pictured himself back in Amestris somehow. Not for a moment had Roy ever truly expected to see Riza here, especially not in his office, and it's throwing him off balance even though she is being as unobtrusive as possible (which is more unobtrusive than anyone else Roy knows). Roy looks at her familiar profile, the soft wave of her hair pulled into a tidy bun at the base of her neck, afternoon sun gifting her with golden highlights, and feels a strange sense of dislocation. It's as if Riza is misplaced, somehow.

"I heard your match was impressive this morning," Hannah says mildly, calling Roy's attention back from where it had strayed. She is quite proficient at this feat, a skill she's had to develop because Roy is so easily distracted.

"I won," Roy answers, signing whatever it is that's on his desk. He didn't even look at this one and hopes it wasn't important. "Honestly, I didn't expect to."

Hannah looks politely skeptical as she slides another paper in front of him, this one the pale pink that signifies it's an invoice, and therefore needs slightly more of Roy's attention, though not very much, because Pieter will have reviewed it thoroughly before even giving it to Hannah. "You don't give yourself enough credit. No one can beat you in a spar except for Levi."

"You've never seen me spar another alchemist," Roy points out and signs the invoice, which is for bed linens and looks entirely reasonable.

Riza had glanced up again at the word alchemist, then frowned slightly and looked away. Roy remembers how frustrated he was his first few days here, with a language just this side of intelligible, not so foreign that it was gibberish, but not close enough to Amestrian to be comprehensible. Riza undoubtedly has it worse than Roy did, as her many talents don't extend to languages. In all their time in Ishval she'd never picked up more than a few words. Deliberately, Roy has always suspected, because it's easier to kill people when you can't understand what they're saying when they plead for mercy.

Riza stands and stretches slightly, lithe and limber in camo pants and a black turtleneck that hugs her arms and highlights her muscles, which are more defined than ever, Roy thinks. Riza tilts her head back and forth to release stress from her neck, a gesture familiar from the time when Roy was studying in Hawkeye Manor, young and brash and impatient, and Riza's father had her doing chores from morning until night.

"I'm sorry," Hannah says, recalling Roy's attention yet again. "I hate to take away your time with your friend, but if you could just get through these last few documents…"

"It's all right," Roy says, looking down at the latest paper — requisition blue, glass for the windows — "she's used to it."

After another 15 minutes, the stack is down to a quarter of its original size, and Hannah declares that the rest can wait until tomorrow, "if you come in right away."

Roy promises to come in after breakfast and makes his escape. Riza nods politely to Roy's staff as they leave, then stays silent at Roy's side as they descend the stairs and walk through the corridors, until they are back outside in the bright afternoon sun.

"Don't say a word," Roy warns, as she opens her mouth.

Riza shuts her mouth and looks at him innocently. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yes, you were. It was going to be about paperwork. I can tell by the glint in your eyes."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Riza says, but the corner of her mouth is twitching slightly. "Though it _is_ amusing that—"

"Not a word," Roy says firmly.

Riza lets it be for a moment, nodding appreciatively when Roy points out the details of the restored façade on the administration building, Roy's first project here and still his favorite. "Still," she says, as they continue slowly down the path, "you have to admit it's strange that even in a different universe you'd end up—"

"Lieutenant." His voice is very firm.

"Yes, sir." She takes another few steps. "But I am curious. Did you set your office up that way on purpose?"

"What way?" Roy asks.

Riza quirks a finely shaped eyebrow at him, just the faintest arch to indicate amusement. "It's just like your office at home."

Roy feels a twinge of discomfort at the word 'home,' even though the word is a perfectly natural one for Riza to use under the circumstances. And then he has to stop and think about it. He hadn't even noticed, because the size and shape of the spaces are different … but when he'd been setting up this office, he'd placed his desk in the rear of the room, the farthest from the door, and Hannah's desk to the left of his, where Riza would sit relative to Roy if he'd transposed his current office over his old one, and Pieter and Gerrit's desks are just where Havoc and Breda's desk are. Even the empty desk where Riza had been sitting, which Roy had thought he'd just shoved out the way, is where Fuery's desk is. Explaining, perhaps, the strange feeling that Riza had been in the wrong spot.

Roy's face flushes. "I never realized."

Riza makes that face that on anyone else would be a smirk, except that Riza is too professional to smirk at a superior officer. "It's cute." They take a few more steps past the mess hall, which Roy points out and then feels stupid about, since Riza's eaten there twice already. Riza doesn't call him on that, though. "Your staff seems competent."

'Competent' is high praise, coming from Riza. "They are. Hannah especially." Roy heads down the path towards the officers' dorms, the sun strong and hot on his neck. He's sweating in his uniform jacket.

Riza doesn't seem to notice the heat. She looks cool and collected, ignoring all the curious glances thrown her way. "They're also very young. Geert, was it? He seems like a boy."

"Gerrit," Roy says. "And he's 23. Almost 24. His birthday is next week. It's a big birthday here. They celebrate the eights more than the fives or tens. His sister is planning a party." They arrive at officers' dorms and Roy holds the door open. "I got him a set of buttons."

Riza waits until Roy comes inside the building, then falls in step behind him and follows him to the stairwell. "Buttons?"

"Yes. For a shirt. They're made of bone. Hand carved. That's a luxury here. Most buttons are made of tin or wood." The stairwell smells of cleaning fluid, though not the kind Levi prefers, the expensive one with the lemon scent. "He's a very practical person, Gerrit. Buttons are practical. But these are pretty as well as useful."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate them, sir," Riza says in her most diplomatic tone.

Roy swivels around to look at her suspiciously but she keeps her expression neutral, waiting patiently for him to unlock the door to his quarters.

Inside, Roy toes his shoes off at the door and places them neatly on the mat. Riza does the same after only a small moment of hesitation, something a little stiff about her movements, but not so strained that Roy feels the need to ask her if something's wrong. She doesn't usually appreciate questions like that. "Tea?" Roy asks, as he slips his jacket off and hangs it up over the back of one of the dining room chairs.

"That would be lovely."

Roy disappears into the kitchen and decides after a moment of dithering to use one of the fancy blends that Lotte gave to Roy and Levi, one that Roy enjoys but doesn't drink often because Levi doesn't much care for it. The kettle still retains a little heat from the morning so it doesn't take long to bring the water to a simmer — "not a full boil," Levi always chides him, "or else you'll scald the tea."

Prior to meeting Levi, Roy hadn't known it was possible for water to be too hot for tea, but he never wants it to be said that he can't learn new things. He pours water from the kettle to the tea pot, puts a generous helping of leaves in the strainer, then sets the tea to steeping, placing the kettle on a tray along with a few small cookies from Opa's that he's been saving in the ice box for a special occasion.

When Roy emerges from the kitchen, Riza is examining the knickknacks on the side table, her hands clasped behind her back, looking without touching. She has a funny expression on her face and Roy is suddenly reminded of the way she used to descend on his office with trash bags to haul away all his accumulated crap. "Is this actually a picture of a penis?" Riza asks, nodding with her head to the shot glass.

"It's supposed to be the clocktower," Roy says. "The big one in town. We passed it on the way in, if you remember."

Riza shrugs in a manner that does nothing to indicate whether she remembers or not.

"Moblit bought it for me. He thought it was funny."

Riza says "hmm" in a tone that makes Roy think that if this were his office in Amestris, the shot glass would soon find itself in the trash. And probably the beer stein with the dogs in suits and dresses, and the cracked walking stick and most of the rest of the junk he has accumulated in the past year and a half. But Riza's eyes just skate lightly over all the things in the room, pausing on the toy piano the longest, and what she says is simply, "You've gathered a lot of things here."

"Well," Roy says, a little embarrassed. He has in fact gathered a lot of things. It's like a disease. "You know how I am."

"I do," Riza says with a note in her voice that sounds almost wistful. She sits down across from Roy at the table and accepts the cup of tea he pours her, adding a small lump of sugar after she takes a sip to test the flavor. She holds on to the sugar tongs longer than she needs, fingers absently tracing the delicate shape of the metal while she's looking around the living room. "These are his," she says finally, placing the tongs carefully back into the bowl. "Levi's."

Roy frowns. He has mostly stopped thinking of things in their quarters as _mine_ and _his_ , even though there are very few items that he and Levi have actually purchased or otherwise acquired jointly. The tongs, though, are part of a tea service Levi has had for years. "Yes."

Riza's jaw is set. "You're living with him."

"I—yes," Roy says carefully. "I'm sure I told you that."

"You didn't." Riza's forehead creases with a hint of a frown. "I knew you were sleeping with him. That was obvious as soon as I saw you together. But I didn't realize it was more serious than that." She glances around the room again, eyes restless, then drags her gaze back to the table. She takes another sip of her tea, then has a small bite of a cookie, murmuring appreciatively at the taste. She swallows and puts the tea cup back on its saucer, her movements delicate and precise. "How serious is it, Roy?"

Riza never calls him Roy. Roy taps his fingers and looks anywhere but Riza's intent, implacable gaze. "I don't know," he says finally, lying because the truth is too big to speak aloud: that this is the most serious Roy's ever been about any relationship in his life; that if the Amestrians hadn't come for Roy, Roy would have stayed here with Levi forever and been happy; that the thought of leaving Levi behind is more terrifying than facing down even the worst homunculus or Titan.

"You're _living_ with him," Riza says. She sounds angry, almost, though for Riza anger is just a slight note of heat in her voice. "This base is certainly big enough for you to have your own quarters if you wanted, which means you don't want them." She nods towards the front door and the neat row of shoes there. "And it's more than that. You put your shoes on the floor mat as soon as we came in. At home, you don't even own a mat and you track mud all the way up to your bedroom. You're serving tea in a porcelain pot and sugar with a pair of tongs instead of a banged-up kettle and a couple of cracked old mugs. And you dusted all your things."

"Levi does the dusting," Roy answers. "It's his hobby."

Riza arches one beautifully tweezed eyebrow. "He dusts all your crap? It _must_ be love." And then, at Roy's flinch, "Is it? Are you in love with him?"

Roy hesitates, and the silence stretches a little too long.

"Oh my god," Riza says faintly. "You are."

"I don't know," Roy says helplessly, not because he doesn't; he does. He knows it down to his bones. If what he feels for Levi isn't love, then it's something stronger and more implacable for which he doesn't even have a word. But he can't say it first to Riza, and it's too late to say it to Levi.

Riza stares at him hard and Roy twitches under her gaze. "You only had one glass of wine last night," she says abruptly.

Of course, she had noticed. "Mike's wine is pretty shitty."

"That's never stopped you before. Did Levi ask you to stop drinking?" Her voice has a note of ire in it; Roy just can't figure out who she's angry at.

"No," Roy says. "He didn't like it, but"—he leans sits back in his chair, needing the buffer the little extra bit of distance provides—"I was drinking a lot. Too much. You know how I can get."

Riza bobs her head once. She knows exactly how Roy can get. She's seen Roy at his worst more than anyone else, even Levi.

"He didn't like it, but he didn't ask me to stop. Only to think about how much I was drinking. But then there was an … an incident"—Roy remembers hot and desperate panic, white-noise static in his brain, transmuting tea into alcohol and then sitting on the floor with his hands under legs so he wouldn't transmute more—"and I stopped after that. I'm careful now." He's _so_ careful, and Levi is so proud of him, and Roy is a sucker for that, every time he puts the liquor away after one drink and Levi smiles like Roy's done something remarkable.

Riza hums low in her throat and continues to stare at him like she's dissecting him. Then she rises to her feet, antsy. Roy isn't used to seeing Riza antsy, though it's less strange here in this setting, where her mere presence is strange all on its own. She paces around the room, unerringly finding her way to every piece of crap that belongs to Roy: the figurines and the spinning top and the books and the bad vase and the beer stein. She stops in front of the side table and picks up the odd rock from beyond the walls, choppy crystals glinting in the afternoon light slipping into the room from between the slats in the blinds. It's some sort of agate, Roy thinks, with bands of white, tan and brown. Roy's seen no evidence of agate anywhere else outside the walls and no agate for sale in the city. The rock is out of place, like Roy.

The stone seems to hold Riza's attention for a moment, but Roy thinks she's just trying to organize her thoughts coherently. Riza isn't often at a loss for words, but when she is, she just waits patiently until she finds the exact right ones, unlike Roy who tends to just keep blurting words out until something sticks the landing.

"When you first disappeared," Riza says finally, running one finger gently over the unpolished exposed quartz, "we didn't realize it until you didn't come in the next day."

Roy swallows. This is a conversation he would prefer never to have. He cannot imagine what it was like for Riza when he disappeared. Well. No, that's a lie. He can imagine it. He _has_ imagined it, night after night, in the beginning lying alone in his small bed in his small room, then later lying next to Levi in their quarters during the middle dark hours of the night, Levi's gentle, even breaths doing little to dispel Roy's grief and guilt over the people he'd left behind. He has imagined Riza's anguish and frenzy many times. But he thinks it will be worse, somehow, to hear the pain expressed in her voice, to have speculation about the level of her pain replaced by certain knowledge.

"We all thought you were probably just home sleeping off a hangover," Riza continues. "It wouldn't have been the first time." She gives him a faintly disapproving look, and Roy flushes, because to assume Roy had gone out and gotten shitface drunk would have been the smart bet, but being the truth doesn't make it any less embarrassing. "When you still hadn't come in by noon, I called. And then when you didn't answer your phone, I checked your apartment. When you weren't there, I called your aunt but she said she hadn't seen you in days. _Then_ I started to worry. And to kick myself for assuming you had just been out getting drunk. We'd lost almost a day."

"You couldn't have known," Roy murmurs.

Riza shrugs. "We might have, if you'd left a note," she says, and Roy knows he will be hearing about this particular communication failure for the rest of his life. Riza sighs. "I suppose that would have been out of character. Still. We started looking in all the bars, then all the brothels."

Roy flushes again, both because his vices are so base and also so well known.

"Eventually we started checking the hospitals and the trains. Contacting ex-lovers. No one had seen you. Jean thought maybe you'd been kidnaped by a crazy alchemist. Heymans though maybe it was Bradley-sympathizers. Kain thought maybe Ishvalan terrorists." Riza turns the rock in her hand, over and over, her fingers sure and deft. "Edward said you might have been targeted by one of the infinite number of people you've pissed off over the years. Someone's husband, maybe, or maybe someone's wife. Alphonse thought you might have had an accident. I thought maybe you'd gotten so drunk you'd fallen, hit your head and lost your memory." She grimaces. "After a week, we dredged the river."

Riza puts the rock back on the side table and goes to stand by the window. The curtains are a pale yellow muslin, almost the same shade as Riza's hair, and they are drawn to either side of the glass, hiding the cheap, scratched wooden window frame. Riza stands sideways to look outside without turning her back on Roy, so Roy can see her profile — the rigid iron of her spine, the tenseness of her jaw. "After a couple of weeks, there was still no sign of you. Not alive or dead. No body, no ransom request. My grandfather finally agreed to announce you were missing to the public. We got a hundred different leads from a hundred unreliable sources and we followed up on all of them."

Roy winces to think of the cost of that search, even though he'd always known this must have happened, that the Amestrian military would have left no stone unturned to retrieve the Flame Alchemist, even if there were plenty of people who wouldn't have been especially sorry to see Roy Mustang dead or disgraced. But they'd still have wanted to know for certain.

"The leads were no help, obviously," Riza says. "Mostly they came from lonely people who wanted attention. Some of the others apparently just enjoyed seeing us chase our tails. The longer it went on, the worse it got. People are horrible. Or I just don't understand their motivations, I suppose. Why someone would lie and say they'd seen you. Why anyone would give us hope like that knowing it was false."

She frowns at the window. Outside, the afternoon summer sun is only halfway down to the horizon, and the rays streak through the window at an oblique angle, blurring the worry lines just starting to make inroads around Riza's eyes. Riza says, "I tried to be pragmatic. Rational. I told myself every morning when I woke up that you were less likely to be alive than you were the day before, to make myself stop hoping for a miracle that wasn't going to come. But I kept hoping anyway, even when it became impossible to believe there was any sort of benign explanation for your absence. It had been months. Obviously"—she hesitates, then turns her head slightly to look at him, as if to verify his presence in the room—"obviously even if you were still alive, you were dead or severely injured, or else you had been taken by someone for something more than ransom." She grins then, a little sourly. "To be fair, it never occurred to us that you might have been transported to an alternate universe."

"Too limited in your thinking," Roy says lightly after a nauseous moment, because he cannot bring himself to say anything more serious to darken the mood even further.

Riza lets out the tiniest chuckle. "I suppose we were. But we kept looking anyway, even when … even when we really had no hope left of finding you. My grandfather threw all the resources of the military into the search, nominally because you were the Flame Alchemist and if you'd been captured by enemy forces the security risk to Amestris would have been enormous. But honestly, he was really just doing it for me." She turned back to Roy and gave a small pale smile. "And for you. He's very fond of you."

Roy has never understood exactly what he did to earn Grumman's favor, but he's always suspected that it was more about the way Roy always pissed off Riza's father than Roy's friendship with Riza. Fuhrer Grumman — General Grumman, then — had never liked his son-in-law. "I'm fond of him too," Roy answers.

Riza smiles back but it's thin and pale and transient, disappearing almost as soon as the corners of her mouth have curled. "Eventually," she says slowly, "we had to … I mean, at some point we had to accept we'd never … that there wasn't anywhere left to search." She throws Roy a pleading look. "I didn't want to give up, but we couldn't keep looking forever. Not without any leads or any concrete information to suggest you were even still alive."

"I don't blame you," Roy says clearly. Carefully. It's important that Riza understand she bears no blame for Roy's disappearance or the length of time it took to track him down. All the blame is on stupid, reckless Roy. "I'm sure you looked much longer than you should have. But"—he hesitates, frowning, and pours himself the dregs of the tea from the pot to give his hands something to do—"if you'd stopped looking, then how did you find me?"

"Your lease ran out," Riza says wryly. She leans closer to the window, peering out at something Roy can't see, and watches for a moment before pulling back. Then she turns from the window and crosses the room, skirting the table with her empty tea cup and half an uneaten cookie. She wanders instead to the toy piano and runs her fingers lightly over the keyboard, just hard enough for one note to ring forlornly through the room, a mournful low D. "It didn't make sense to renew, when you were … well. You know." She sighs. "Honestly, I would have renewed it if it were up to me, but the team wouldn't let me, and the psychologist said that letting the apartment go would help me 'move on.' " She scowls, forehead bending into a deep crease. Roy can only imagine what sort of pressure it took from Grumman and others to convince Riza to speak to a psychologist. Probably it had been a direct order from Grumman himself, given as the Furhrer, not her grandfather.

"The team went to clean out your apartment. Heymans had already been reassigned, and Kain had resigned his commission by then, so Jean and I hadn't seen either of them for a while. It was nice to be back together for the weekend. Sad, but nice. We ordered in Xingese and drank your beer. I had the last bottle of your Aerugan Gold. That stuff's shit. I don't know how you stand it."

"You have to eat it with Aerugan food," Roy says. "The spices scald your taste buds enough that the beer tastes all right."

Riza looks skeptical. "We got the spiciest stuff on the menu at Mama Yu's. Heymans doesn't like it if it doesn't make him cry. The beer was still shit."

"Wrong spices."

"Hmm." She hits another few keys on the piano, random notes that plink tinnily in the room. "I volunteered to clean out your bureau because I knew you kept your porn there and I didn't think you'd want anyone else to see it."

For a moment, Roy considers having a heart attack and dying of embarrassment, but his heart doesn't seem inclined to assist in that regard and so he has to settle for flushing horribly.

Riza is as always casually oblivious to his utter humiliation. "I found the stack of files you had hidden under the false bottom. The ones from Colonel Hughes." She hits a horribly discordant few notes on the piano and gives Roy a critical look. "The confidential ones you should not have had in your house, sir. Even hidden."

Roy coughs and sips at his tea, which is lukewarm at best. "They were cold cases. I'll bet no one missed them."

"That's not the point," Riza says sternly. "According to protocol they should not have left Command without having been properly signed out."

"So, no one missed them."

Riza taps her fingers against piano's stubby wooden legs. "No," she concedes grudgingly, though she still looks disapproving. "But we looked through them and realized what they were. It wasn't much of a stretch to image that you had been continuing Col. Hughes's investigations, so we thought we would do some digging on our own. Not that we expected it would lead us to you, but"—she shrugs—"I guess I'm not really sure why. We did it for you, I suppose. Because it had obviously been something you cared about."

"So you started looking into the unsolved cases and found the laboratory," Roy says.

Riza hums. "Eventually. Jean and I, and Heymans, we were looking on our own time at that point. Unofficially. Eventually we found the lab, saw the array, and sent for Edward and Alphonse." She breathes in deeply, her breath catching on the way in. Her jaw is tight. "Alphonse was the one who realized what the bloodstains were. That was"—she breathes again, her eyes focused on nothing in the room—"that was bad. Even though it only confirmed what we had been thinking already. Still. Seeing blood there was"—another tight, heavy breath—"it was bad. The boys were so angry. Not at you, I don't think. Just at everything. That you might have died because of a stupid alchemical accident."

Alphonse had spent the better part of his childhood as a living suit of armor because of a stupid alchemical accident; Edward had lost an arm and a leg, then traded his alchemy to get Alphonse his body back. The Elrics have issues with alchemical accidents.

Riza has moved on to the small fantastical figurines. She picks up one that to Roy's mind resembles Envy's insect form and stares at it for a moment with a peculiar expression on her face. Roy wonders if she also thinks it looks like Envy, if she is remembering stopping Roy from killing it. Then Riza puts the figurine back down and comes back to the table. She sits down, back rigid and straight, and takes a bite of the remainder of her cookie. "Alphonse and Edward both spent so much time working on the array," Riza says after she has chewed and swallowed. "Months, trying to deduce what it was meant to do, and all that time, I thought you must be dead. Even though there was no body, I just knew it, somehow. Because if there'd been an accident and you had survived, you'd have found your way back to us. But you hadn't. So, you must have been be dead."

Roy would not have thought it could be possible to feel any more guilty than he already did, but he manages it anyway. "I'm sorry," he says wretchedly. "I tried, but I couldn't. I had hardly even seen the array and I couldn't … I just couldn't. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Riza says steadily. "I know you never meant…" Her jaw tics. "And then they told me maybe you weren't dead. That maybe the array had just sent you to another universe, and I felt"—she takes a sip of her surely cold tea and grimaces—"I felt guilty for having given up on you. For doubting you. And for not having found the files in your house sooner."

"You shouldn't have felt guilty," Roy says. "Not for a minute. Not for a second. It wasn't your fault. None of it. Sometimes shit happens and it's not anybody's fault. Though in this case it was arguably my fault. But even if it hadn't been my fault, it wouldn't have been your fault."

Riza shrugs, a tiny motion of one shoulder that hardly disrupts the fabric of her shirt. The shirt is a tight black mesh, utterly form-fitting, and not at all part of the standard Amestrian military uniform. Unless the standard uniform has changed in the past 18 months, which Roy supposes is possible. Perhaps they've gotten rid of the skirt. "You shouldn't feel guilty either," Riza says. She pauses and seems to consider what she's just said. "Well, not as much as you probably do. But that's not my point." She takes another sip of her cold tea, then uses both hands to place the tea cup in its saucer, precisely centered.

"You've been gone for a year and a half," she says. "For the first year, I thought you were probably dead. And then when I found out there was a chance you weren't, all that mattered was getting you back home. I was just"—she frowns, looking for a word—"so _focused_ ," she says. "Finding you, bringing you back, that was the important thing. For the past six months, it's all I've been thinking about. But for all those months, in all that time …" She pauses. Looks at him, then looks away. Her hands are flat on the table now, her fingers pale against the burnished wood. Her skin is smooth and soft; her fingers are long and thin and delicate. They don't look killer's hands, not like the scarred wrecks that are Roy's. "In all that time, it never occurred to me to wonder if maybe you wouldn't want to come back."

Roy goes as cold as his tea. When he speaks, his voice is strange and scratchy. "You think I don't want to go back to Amestris?" _Amestris_ , he realizes a moment later. Not _home_.

"I don't know," Riza answers. She looks and sounds completely drained in a way he hasn't seen her since the front lines of Ishval. "Do you?"

Roy looks around at the living room, at his piano and his figurines and his stupid obscene shot glass, at Levi's tea pot and framed pictures, at his own boots placed carefully on the mat Levi cleans every two days. He looks at Levi's one battered book surrounded by dozens of Roy's on the bookshelves Roy had installed the week after they moved in. The paintings on the walls are mostly Levi's, because Roy prefers art he can touch. But the biggest painting on the wall is Roy's, a present for Roy's 33rd birthday. Levi thought Roy would like it for the colors. Roy loves the colors, but also he loves the painting because Levi had picked it for him. Underneath the table is a rug that Levi and Roy bought together on a trip into town to get some tea for Levi and cheese for Roy; the rug had been in the window of a second-hand shop and Roy had been drawn to the colors and Levi the texture.

Roy loves the rug. He loves living here in these cramped quarters that are filled with all his crap and Levi's things. The thought of leaving is nauseating. But the thought of never seeing his aunt and his sisters again is also nauseating. He belongs in Amestris. He's only here because of an accident. "I do want to go back," Roy says eventually. "Amestris is my home." But even as he says it, he wonders exactly whom he's trying to convince.

* * *

By the end of the day, Levi has managed to finish only a first draft of a single report for Erwin. It's not even a particularly good first draft. Admittedly, his first drafts are always shit and the final versions are hardly any better, but this one is particularly poor. His thoughts only sluggishly cohere, his mind too quick to jump to topics he'd rather avoid thinking about. Glad for the excuse to shove the report in a drawer, Levi makes it to dinner precisely on time only to find that Roy and the Amestrians — the other Amestrians — are already waiting for him at a table. Roy has saved him the seat on his right, which is a small thing, hardly important, but Riza had been in that spot this morning and Levi's heart thumps an extra beat when he takes his place and Roy smiles at him.

Moblit and Hange appear soon after, Hange with a sheath of papers that get shoved immediately in Alphonse's face. Moblit takes the seat directly across from Riza and says something to her in bright, butchered Amestrian. Riza looks puzzled but there's a slight upturn at the corner of her mouth that makes Levi think she knows what Moblit meant and is at least vaguely amused. If so, this might be the most success Moblit has had catching a woman's interest since Levi has known him.

Roy is pensive through the meal, quiet and distracted. He hardly touches his dinner and picks his brownie apart without eating any of it, leaving a mountain of brown crumbs on his napkin. " _Keine nüsse_?" Riza asks. She gets a small embarrassed smile and a _nein_ — no — in return. Levi knows _keine_ means none – " _Keine bucher?"_ Roy had asked all those months ago in that small cell under the ruined castle. _No books? Nüsse_ is an unknown, but then Levi remembers that sometimes Levi's and Roy's words are the same except for t's and s's: Roy's _wasser_ is Levi's _water_ ; Roy's _scheisse_ is Levi's _shit_ ; Roy's _nüsse_ could be _nute,_ which means nothing at all, but — oh. Of course, it's _noten_. _No nuts_ , Riza is asking, because she knows Roy well enough to know about his strange aversion to crunchy bits in his baked goods.

The uneaten mound of nut-free brownie crumbs gets wrapped up in a napkin and pushed to the side. Roy taps his fingers restlessly on the table while Havoc waxes on about his day in the armory with Markel, or so Levi thinks. Levi catches only a few words here or there. His Amestrian language lessons didn't focus on weaponry, and Havoc's Amestrian accent is different than Roy's, with vowels more like Levi's own but consonants a little clipped and choppy. Levi would never have picked up on any of this before he met Roy. He'd known accents existed but had never given any thought to how they warp and reshape speech. He wonders how much more difficult for Roy the many different accents in the Corps had made learning Levi's language, how much Roy had struggled to reconcile the difference between Erwin's precise diction and Levi's sloppy Underground drawl.

Roy is jittery, uneasy. For a while after the kidnaping and the slaughter of Pinzer's men, when Roy had recovered enough to eat in the mess hall but was at any moment still a single wrong word away from panic, his friends made sure he never took his meals alone. There was no set rota, no plan. But somehow, no matter when Roy ate, there were always at least two people with him: Levi as often as he could be, Moblit more often than seemed plausible, Mike and Lotte and Hannah and Niklas and Floris, and of course Armin and the rest of the teens, whose company Roy seemed to tolerate easier than Levi ever could. Roy never sat alone. Through some unspoken agreement there was always someone on either side of him, there to offer support with a grounding touch on the arm or the firm press of a thigh.

Roy hasn't needed careful babysitting for months, but Levi wants to reach out and press down on Roy's restive fingers anyway, to give a little of the tactile comfort Roy always responds best to. But Roy's still funny about touch in public so Levi rarely initiates it, and with Riza tucked in close on Roy's other side, Levi's no longer certain of his place. He settles for the thigh trick, shifting over just enough so that his leg presses against Roy's, not firmly enough for any warmth to seep through two layers of cloth. Roy sighs a bit and the drumming of his fingers gradually slows. Riza is watching Roy's hand; as the tapping ebbs and stops, Riza shifts her gaze to Levi's face. Her eyes are neutral and assessing, without the challenge Levi thinks is probably visible in his own. Levi dips his head; from this vantage he can see that Riza too is pressed up against Roy's side, thigh to thigh and hip to hip.

Does she think they're rivals or allies, Levi wonders. Does she resent Levi for having as much of Roy as he does — _did_ — or is she simply grateful that Levi's delivering Roy back safely to her protective custody? He wishes his Amestrian were better, that there were any way to speak to Riza alone without Roy as an interpreter. This is a conversation Roy cannot be part of, but there is no way to have it without him.

"I'm tired," Roy says abruptly, and the words must be close enough to the same that the Amestrians can understand them, because they stretch and rise to their feet with their trays. Alphonse murmurs something to Roy, his voice soft and his face a little worried; all Levi catches is the word _transmutationsenergie_. Roy shrugs and nods and murmurs something back, and Alphonse's concerned expression fades to merely interested.

Moblit offers to walk the Amestrians back to their guest quarters, which are in a separate barracks from Roy and Levi's quarters. To Levi's surprise, Roy agrees and bids goodnight to his friends where the paths diverge. He's silent for the short walk back to their quarters, and he stays silent all the way up the stairs and down the hall, leaning against the wall while Levi unlocks the door. Roy toes off his shoes when they enter, then heads straight for the couch and collapses into it, head back and eyes closed. He looks pale and wan in the late evening light coming from the windows.

Lighting the lamps is usually Roy's job, but he looks so exhausted Levi takes pity on him and does it himself. He only lights two, leaving the room full of shadows. He goes into the kitchen next. There are two teacups in the sink, rinsed but not washed, and two crumpled napkins dusted with cookie crumbs on the top of the trash in the bin. Levi knows Roy spent the afternoon with Riza. He must have brought her back here. For a moment, Levi is deeply jealous and resentful that Riza was here in Levi's space, probably sitting in Levi's seat at the table, using Levi's teacups.

But then Levi shakes his head, feeling stupid and juvenile. These quarters are as much Roy's as they are Levi's, and it isn't like no one else has ever been here. Moblit is here all the time, and Mike and Lotte too; even Erwin has been here several times, and all of them have sat at the table drinking tea from Levi's teacups. If Levi can tolerate Erwin in his quarters without needing to fumigate afterwards, he can tolerate Riza having been here for a little while.

Levi sets a pot of tea to steeping and washes the teacups, then dries them and puts them away. He takes out two cups from a different set, these a slightly thicker porcelain with plain gold bands painted around the rim. They are sturdy and utilitarian but not ugly, and they hold more tea than the others.

This sun is dipping down over the horizon when Levi comes back into the living room. Roy hasn't moved from the couch. His eyes are closed and his breaths are smooth and even. He might be asleep. This late in summer, the sun doesn't set until 20:00 or 20:30, but that's still early to go to bed. If Levi lets Roy sleep now, he'll wake up later and won't be able to fall back asleep, then he'll be exhausted and cranky tomorrow. Plus, he'll have a sore neck from sleeping sitting up.

"Hey," Levi says softly, putting the tea on the side table and sitting down next to Roy. He threads his fingers through Roy's and squeezes. "It isn't time for sleeping."

"'m not asleep," Roy mumbles. He squeezes Levi's fingers back lightly, then wrests his eyes open and blinks muzzily. "You made tea."

Levi admits to having made tea and waits until Roy sits up before passing a cup over. The blend is one of Roy's fancy mixes, cinnamon and ginger, coriander and cloves. Levi didn't like the bite at first but it's grown on him over time, and he especially likes it before bed. Roy murmurs his thanks and takes an appreciative sip, sighing and settling back into the couch when he's drunk enough to bring the liquid down to a safe level.

"You're tired," Levi says. "Was it that thing you did at the end of the spar, when you knocked Alphonse off the wall?"

"An _energieschub_ ," Roy says. He drinks some more tea then rubs at his eyes with his free hand. "Like Moblit's invisible spear. I pushed at Alphonse with only energy. But that isn't how transmutations are meant to work."

Levi frowns. He doesn't know a lot about alchemy or science in general, but it seems to him that anything that works at all must be meant to work that way. Otherwise, you could just make science do whatever you want. "Why did it make you tired?"

"I'm not sure," Roy admits. "For most transmutations, you gather in energy and let it out almost immediately." He gestures with his hands, making a quick wave motion. "It's very fast. In and out. But for this, I needed to let the energy grow, you understand? Until there was enough. Holding it was hard. It doesn't want to stay inside a human body, I think." He rubs at his eyes again. "Alphonse might know why. Maybe he'll know how to … how to make it not so tiring, so it's more than an interesting trick."

 _Not tricks,_ Roy had always insisted when he'd been trying to explain how alchemy worked. Levi kindly doesn't call him on it.

Roy sips at his tea again and the silence stretches out between them. Levi is more comfortable with quiet than Roy, but this silence is filled with all the things Levi can't say out loud, and it bears down on him oppressively. "You had Riza over," he says.

Roy glances at him, then his eyebrows lift in alarm. "I didn't wash the cups. I'm sorry, I meant to, but—"

"It's okay," Levi says. "You rinsed them. They won't stain. And I like washing dishes."

Roy looks abashed. "I still should have washed them." He takes a last sip of his tea and then puts the cup down on the floor, out of the way of his feet. He leans back into the couch again, head tilted up and staring at the ceiling. "I didn't leave a note," he says eventually. "That day. She's mad at me for it. She'll never say it, but I can tell. Her eye … _ahm_ , what is _zuckt?"_ He blinks his eye exaggeratedly, like it's in spasm.

"Twitch," Levi guesses.

Roy repeats _trilt_ to lock it into memory, then sighs. He rubs his eyes again, and Levi's starting to grow a little bit concerned, though Roy's eyes often bother him when he's tired and so maybe this is nothing more than that. "That was the day Maes died," Roy says. "I mean, not the actual day. The _jahrestag_. The same day but two years afterwards."

" _Verjaardag_ ," Levi says.

"Anniversary. I was not … well. My head. _Tch_ , you know how my head gets sometimes." He makes a frenetic kind of motion around his head, fingers waving frantically.

Levi nods.

"I needed to be somewhere else. Like that morning I made you take me outside the walls." When Roy had gotten almost drunk on transmuted tea and they'd killed a couple of hundred Titans between them before fucking wildly in the grass. Sex and alcohol and idiotic, reckless behavior. That's how Roy manages his stress. Levi can't say he's surprised that Roy's poor coping skills had been the root cause of the accident that brought him here; he's only surprised that they've never discussed it until now.

"I left without telling anyone where I was going, because I thought I couldn't stay a minute longer. No. It was because I didn't think at all. Because when I am like that, I need to make my brain quiet, and that's all that's important in the time. But if I had only left a note," Roy says, sighing, "or told someone where I was going, they might have found me a year ago. It took them only six months to come after they found the array."

A year ago, Roy couldn't use his flame while aloft on the gear. He'd still had his own quarters, even if he spent half his nights with Levi. He hadn't yet found the piano and he didn't yet have responsibilities beyond fighting Titans. Neither of them had ever heard of Pinzer. A year ago, Roy's life hadn't been inextricably intertwined with Levi's in every way that mattered. If the Amestrians had come for Roy then, Levi would have been unhappy but he wouldn't have been _wretched_. He wouldn't have felt like he was losing half his soul. He hadn't thought he'd had a soul to lose.

"You loved him," Levi says eventually, because none of the other words in his head are safe to speak aloud. "Maes."

Roy breathes in, slow and deep. He's still staring at the ceiling. "I did. Not like you loved Farlan and Isabel. We never were lovers. Not even before he met Gracia." He glances at Levi, a ghost of a smile playing across his face. "I _can_ have male friends I don't have sex with."

"I know," Levi says. He finishes his own tea and twists so he's curled into Roy's side and doesn't let himself wonder how few nights they have left together. Roy hums contentedly and starts playing with Levi's hair, his fingertips running through the short hairs at the nape of Levi's neck. Levi doesn't purr. He says, "Does that mean you never slept with Havoc?"

Roy's fingers stop for a moment, then he draws in air and lets it out in a huff of quiet, startled laughter. "I never slept with Havoc. He worked for me. That would not have been, _ahm_ , appropriate."

Levi wouldn't have guessed appropriateness often figured into Roy's decisions about sexual partners. He's admitted he slept with three of his not-sisters; from Levi's perspective it doesn't get much more inappropriate than that. But maybe Levi just doesn't know enough about Amestrian sexual mores or families in general to judge.

"He is pretty, though," Roy says thoughtfully. "If you like your men tall and fair."

Short and dark Levi makes an irritated noise, and Roy laughs softly. "I think Havoc prefers only women," he says. "You don't need to be jealous." His fingers freeze then and he goes very still; it takes him a moment to breathe, and Levi knows he is thinking what Levi has been avoiding thinking all day, that Levi being jealous would only make sense if Levi and Roy were still together; that Roy is going to be gone soon and there will be no relationship left to be protective of. Roy could sleep with Jean Havoc or Riza Hawkeye or any other of the millions of people in Amestris — and he will, undoubtedly; Levi is not naïve enough to believe otherwise — and Levi will never know.

 _Stay with me_ , he wants to say, but he can't do that to Roy, because Roy can't stay with Levi any more than Levi can go with Roy. Roy never asked to leave his life behind; he has family in Amestris, friends, a job, a purpose. He still writes letters home in his notebook every week. Levi bore intimate witness to Roy's struggle to accept his incalculable losses and come to some sort of peace with them. How could he ask Roy to give everything up a second time? How can he even consider it?

So Levi says nothing, just stays quiet and breathes in Roy's scent, earthy and familiar.

"I don't want to leave you," Roy whispers into the quiet. "I don't. But I have to go back, Levi. It's my home."

"I know," Levi says, and lets his eyes fall shut to the gentle rhythm of Roy's fingers in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, we are getting really close to the end now. I know I have at least one more section to add, so depending on where the chapter breaks fall I think there are two or three to go. 
> 
> Art: Apparently, if I used the art program on my iPad I could have done in 10 minutes what took me all day. So, feeling kind of dumb now. That said, please admire the nice big painting that Roy and Riza are standing in front of. While you are admiring it, ask yourself why I thought it was a good idea or remotely necessary for Roy and Riza to be standing in front of it. The rock in Roy's hand is there because I had to put something in his hand, and the rock's made an appearance multiple times in the story, including this chapter. But it was a pain too. 
> 
> SapphireMusings is somehow responsible for the section at the end of the chapter, even though what I wrote wasn't what I thought I was going to write, which means I still have something else left to write. But you know, that's how it goes in beta. She suggested "Should I stay or should I go" for the title, which felt a little too on the nose, but I went with another line from the Clash song. :)
> 
> Comments: it's cold and dreary and we have tons of snow on the ground. Make my day and comment! You are running out of chances. :)


	27. We always knew it might come to this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. This one's for all the marbles. Deep breath, everyone.
> 
> Roy:  
> Roy is at every moment aware that the remainder of their time alone together is fleeting. Fleeing, it feels like. Levi has never been a big conversationalist but he is even quieter now and so is Roy, not because they have nothing to say to each other but because there is too much to say, and it is too big, and too hard.
> 
> Levi:  
> But now Levi's wondering if Kenny had the right of it all along, if the quick cut hadn't been kinder in the end, because this slow drawn-out process of Roy's leaving is agony. Levi had lost Farlan and Isabel in an instant and he's been suffering that pain ever since, but at least the moment of loss had been singular. This is that same pain only stretched out over endless hours. Knowing that the waiting will be over soon isn't doing anything but making it harder for Levi to breathe around the misery clawing at his chest.

Roy lives his next few days in a kind of limbo, existing only in certain moments, fits and snatches of existence that melt and reform from one to the next. The time in between is blurry and indistinct. Each morning, Roy eats breakfast with Levi in their quarters, because that is time they can spend alone together and Roy is at every moment aware that the remainder of their time alone together is fleeting. Fleeing, it feels like. Levi has never been a big conversationalist but he is even quieter now and so is Roy, not because they have nothing to say to each other but because there is too much to say, and it is too big, and too hard.

On the sixth morning after the Amestrians arrive, like every morning after the first, they eat together in near silence. Roy chokes down unpalatable toast slathered with his favorite jam and tasteless slices of his favorite cheese; he sips at a cup of his favorite blend of tea that might as well have been made with oak leaves and dirt. With every bite and every sip, he wonders how much longer he has left before he will be back in Amestris eating breakfast in an empty apartment by himself; he wonders too how something that he has wanted so desperately for so long can feel, now that he has it, like nothing more than punishment. Levi eats his own breakfast with the same lackluster attention, but he reaches for the jam knife at the same time Roy does so their fingers brush together; later, he is slow washing the dishes so that they have to stand next to each other at the sink a little longer than they should.

Roy goes to work because when all else fails he falls back on routine; working keeps his hands busy and his mind at least somewhat occupied. He sits at his desk and he reads the reports Hannah puts in front of him for projects he will not be around to see completed. He listens to Pieter complain about the painters doing shoddy work and Gerrit fuss over the number of chairs they need in the recruit classrooms, and when Hannah slides his glasses across the desk in the middle of the morning because he has been rubbing his eyes incessantly, he puts them on without complaint. He supposes he will have to take the glasses with him when he leaves, because he doubts his nearsightedness will magically correct itself when he returns to Amestris. He wonders how it will feel to be in an office in Military Command in Central City, wearing glasses that he picked out with Levi in a little optometry store in Trost. He thinks that every time he puts on the glasses, he will remember the feel of Levi's hands sweeping Roy's hair away from his temples, will feel again the brush of Levi's calloused fingers as he'd slid the frames up Roy's nose and hooked them gently around Roy's ears. "These," Levi had said decisively, and though Roy had loathed them just as much as every other pair he'd tried on, he'd bought them for the way the corner of Levi's mouth had turned up when he'd looked at Roy wearing them.

Lunch is very much like breakfast except that he eats it in the mess hall and there are more people with him than just Levi. He forces down an unappealing hot, savory stew and fresh, fragrant bread that turns his stomach; Levi sits to his right and presses their thighs together as he picks without interest at his own meal. Across the table, Moblit and Havoc carry on a conversation in some kind of pidgin Amestrian, talking about women in one moment, sports in the next, and their shared distaste for green vegetables. It's impressive how much they can communicate with a few words and a lot of wild gesturing. It reminds Roy of his second night here when Levi had tried to teach Roy the word for "how." Levi had struggled so hard, as if getting this concept across had been vital. His hands had been flying through the air as he'd tried to explain, and even in the midst of Roy's panic about being stranded and alone, he had found Levi's hands mesmerizing. They were small and powerful; his movements not graceful, but still strong and sure and fierce.

Roy's breath catches, and Levi presses his leg a little harder against Roy's. Roy tangles his fingers with Levi's right on top of the table. He doesn't care if anybody sees it. He doesn't care if everybody does.

Nobody says a word.

To Roy's left, Riza sits, a silent shadow. She doesn't touch him, like she thinks she's lost the right somehow. She's still angry, Roy thinks, maybe about the note Roy didn't leave, maybe that Roy is conflicted about returning to Amestris. Maybe that Roy has yet to say 'thank you' to her for coming to rescue him, even though they have never needed to thank each other for anything before. Roy doesn't think he could say it now and sound convincing anyway. Maybe in a few months, when he's ho— when he's back, and settled, and not feeling so bruised. More than once, he catches Riza staring at Levi with a slight furrow in her brow. Roy wonders what emotion is behind her expression but doesn't ask.

Alphonse sits at the end of the table. When not poring over maps or weapons blueprints with Hange, he has been spending time with Levi's squad, even practicing with the ODM gear. To Roy's irritation, Alphonse took to it instantly, and Roy guesses some version of the gear will make its way back to Amestris. Even after all this time, Roy is still not sure how it actually works, but its physics-defying implausibility would provide just the sort of puzzle that Edward would love, especially with Winry at his side to build him a set of his own.

His mind then conjures up an image of Edward decked out in ODM gear swinging through Central City, his obnoxious red coat flaring out behind him. Roy twitches so hard he almost pulls a muscle.

Time blurs again and he finds himself back in his office. Hannah has helpfully left his glasses on top of the stack of reports that have multiplied in the hour he was gone for lunch. He puts on the glasses before he has even sat down, then works through the afternoon in silence.

Erwin stops by in the middle of the afternoon and Roy's office mysteriously clears out. Erwin comes to stand in front of Roy's desk, which is strange and awkward. Usually, Erwin is the one seated at the big desk and Roy is the one standing in front of it getting in trouble. "I heard from Hange that Alphonse is almost done," Erwin says without preface, because he doesn't believe in chitchat.

Roy nods tersely. Every day, Alphonse reports on his progress. Roy is waiting for the day there is no more progress to be made, when Alphonse says he has finished and that they can leave. Beneath the desk, where Erwin can't see, Roy digs his fingers into his thigh and squeezes hard.

"Good," Erwin says, but then he frowns and huffs, like maybe it is not so good after all. He runs his finger along the edge of Roy's desk. If he's not careful, he'll get a splinter. Roy thinks this, but doesn't say it.

The silence is uncomfortable. Erwin cracks first. "Do you know when you're going back?"

"No," Roy says. "A few days." This is what he always says whenever anyone asks: "No. A few days." No, because he doesn't want to know exactly. A few days, because that means not today and not tomorrow.

Erwin frowns briefly, either at the ambiguity of the answer or the length of time, which may be either too short or too long from Erwin's perspective. He's not in any particular rush to see Roy off, Roy thinks, but on the other hand he is housing and feeding the Amestrians for free, and they are also a disruption to the orderly routines Erwin prefers for the Corps. Roy was a bigger disruption when he arrived and for a long time afterwards; perhaps that's why Erwin has never seemed to like Roy very much.

"I'd let him go with you," Erwin says eventually. "If he wanted. I wouldn't try to keep him here."

Erwin _couldn't_ keep Levi here, Roy thinks. Not if Levi wanted to leave. But for Levi, life has never been about what he wanted. Levi will stay for Farlan and for Isabel and for Moblit and Hange and even Armin and Eren and the rest of the teens he barely tolerates. "That's very kind of you," is how Roy answers, even though it doesn't feel kind at all. It feels like Erwin is twisting the knife that has taken up residence in Roy's gut. Roy wonders how long it will take for this particular pain to fade, or if it will stay with him forever like the pain of Maes's death. Perhaps it will. Probably it will. Probably this is exactly what he is owed. Probably he is owed even more pain than this.

Erwin's finger catches on the desk and he swears softly. A tiny bead of blood wells up on his fingertip. He ought to have known better. Roy's desk is a refurbished hunk of wood that had been recovered from the old administrative building. From the same room where he'd found the piano, if he remembers correctly. It is battered and bruised and therefore perfect for Roy. The drawers are filled with crap he hasn't wanted to bring back to their quarters because he thought Levi might have a fit: two more inappropriate shot glasses from Moblit; a small tin whistle; several more pens; a horsehair brush and matching hand mirror; a wooden box with a pretty inlay on the cover that is too small to hold anything but a few coins.

Roy will have to clean out the desk, he realizes. He'll have to throw everything out or give it away. It's mostly junk, like everything he accumulates is mostly junk, and none of the shit he has here in this desk has enough sentimental value that he'd want to bring it back to Amestris. Really, nothing else he's accumulated needs to come back to Amestris. There's only one thing Roy wants to bring back – one _person_ – and that's the one thing he can't take with him.

Erwin is still examining his finger.

"Did you get a splinter?" Roy asks, with a small vindictive hope that the answer is yes. The number of reports Erwin has been sending Roy has not decreased at all, even though Roy's concentration has been for shit since the day the Amestrians arrived.

Erwin peers critically at his fingertip. His eyesight is perfect, like his everything else. Even without the arm, he still looks flawless, regal and majestic, every hair always perfectly in place, every line of his uniform always neatly creased. "No," he says eventually. He sticks his finger in his mouth for a moment; Roy stores the image away in his mind to describe it later to Levi, who will be disgusted and will probably go on an entertaining rant about Erwin's poor personal hygiene. It will be nice to hear Levi rant again. He's been so quiet, like Roy.

Erwin takes a deep breath. He looks around Roy's office, eyes without a trace of guilt the enormous stack of reports on Roy's desk. "We'll have to talk about _transitieplannen_ ," he says. "Not today."

 _Plannen_ is basically the same; Roy isn't sure what _transitie_ means but he can guess. The only kind of plans they need to talk about are plans for what to do when Roy is gone.

"Smith," Roy says, which feels too casual a way to address a commanding officer, but he cannot bring himself to call Erwin by his given name, and Smith is preferable to _sir_. "I must ask you to do me a … a _gefallen? Ahm, begünstigen?"_

Erwin's expression clears. _"Gunst._ What kind of favor?"

Roy hesitates, not sure how to phrase what he is looking for. "Levi," he says slowly. "He is. That is, I'm worried he will … he's different now than he was. _Sicherlich_ , no, that is surely. Surely you have seen it."

Erwin nods once, slowly. He peers down at his finger again, then pulls out a handkerchief and somehow manages to clean his finger with it. He's more dexterous with the one hand than Roy would expect. Erwin puts the handkerchief back in his pocket and then takes a few steps back to half sit on Hannah's desk, the edge of his ass just touching the edge of the desk. "You want me to look out for him."

"Yes," Roy says. "You can't tell him, but"—he swallows—"I'm worried for him."

Erwin settles a little more onto the desk, and his hip brushes up against a stack of carefully sorted papers, jostling them. Hannah would be annoyed if she saw. Erwin considers Roy for a moment, thoughtfully. "I watched Levi for months before I recruited him," he says. "He still doesn't know how long. He'd be pissed off if he did." He glares at Roy and points a stern finger in his direction. It's the one that almost but didn't get a splinter and the tip is a little red. "Don't tell him."

"I won't," Roy says, which is insincere at best and possibly an outright lie. Roy thinks anyone telling him anything should just assume he will immediately tell Levi; if they don't want Levi to know, they shouldn't tell Roy at all. But Roy has already heard from Levi that Erwin watched him for months and Levi is in fact exceedingly pissed off about it, so there seems to be no new information to share, except perhaps that Erwin's months might have been more months than Levi realized.

"I hadn't figured on Farlan and Isabel," Erwin says. "We knew they were part of Levi's gang, of course, but we weren't watching him at night, so we didn't realize how close they all were." He shrugs and looks at Roy with a strange kind of amusement. "He didn't seem the sort to form emotional attachments. Shows what I know."

Roy isn't sure what he should say in response to that, so he opts for a neutral hum and a nod of his head.

"After they died," Erwin said, with no emotion to indicate whether he feels any guilt for that tragedy at all, "I watched him every time we went out. Every damn time, I kept him at my side because I was sure he was going to get himself killed on purpose. But"—he shrugs fluidly—"all that watching wasn't necessary. He took his rage and turned it on the Titans."

Erwin stands up straight then and walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. The light from the ceiling lamps glints on his hair like a halo. "He saw his lovers torn to pieces in front of him and he survived. He'll survive this too." He pauses and stares at Roy, his gaze intent and not unkind. "If I'm being totally honest," Erwin says, "I'm more worried about _you_." Then he leaves and Roy is left alone to stare at the door until Hannah returns and prods him to get back to work.

The tide of the day ebbs and flows. Roy has an early dinner in the mess with Levi on one side and Riza on the other. Riza tells him she spent her afternoon sparring with some of the new recruits. Then Moblit took her into town and bought her hot chocolate and a pastry at Opa's. "He's sweet," she tells Roy, but the way she says it makes Roy think of the way she talks about Black Hayate. "The recruits need more training in hand-to-hand."

Roy doesn't tell her that until a few months ago, most of the recruits died on their first or second mission outside the walls, and better hand-to-hand combat skills wouldn't have saved them. He wonders what will happen after he's gone; if people are going to die that he could have saved. And then he thinks that of course they will. It's inevitable. He grows abruptly nauseated and pushes his tray away. He can't let himself think like that. The work he could be doing in Amestris is important too; it's not for him to weigh the welfare of one group of people against another, only to use his talents the best he can wherever he is.

After dinner, they go to the tavern in town and Roy carefully doesn't let himself think this is undoubtedly the last night he will ever play piano here and the last time he will ever play with this group of people. He doesn't let himself think this is the last time he will drink this particular ale or lose at darts on this particular dartboard. He just plays music with Mike and Lotte and Jan and Floris and Anke, and his friends sing along in two languages when the band plays the Amestrian songs Roy has taught them.

Lotte's voice is particularly lovely tonight, soft and throaty, and when she looks at Roy her eyes are moist. Alphonse asks if Roy ever sings and Riza says, "God forbid," and Roy tries and fails not to be a little bit offended even though she's right. Later, as they walk home, Roy tells the story of how he was kidnaped from that tavern. It's the first time he's talked about it to anyone who didn't already know the details; when he explains how he'd escaped and what had happened afterwards, Levi grabs his hand and squeezes tight enough that Roy gets through it without needing to be reminded to breathe. Levi can't understand the words so it must just be the expression on Roy's face that he's responding to; Roy doesn't want to guess what expression that is.

Riza frowns the whole way through and Alphonse makes distressed noises. Havoc looks like he kind of wishes he had a gun and could do some damage with it. None of them say anything about how many people Roy had killed, but Riza does touch him on the arm gently, as if he's fragile. She looks at Levi before she does it like she's asking for permission. Levi doesn't say anything but his grip on Roy's hand tightens. He always holds Roy's hand tightly, so Roy can't spiral away and get lost.

Roy and Levi get home to their quarters and then it's silent again, only the too big words that they can't or won't say between them. They wash and then they fuck and then they lie in bed in the dark in sweaty silence, Levi's hand splayed open on Roy's chest, Roy's arm trapped under Levi's shoulder. Roy sleeps slowly and poorly. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, Levi is gone and a pale light is seeping from the living room through the cracks around the door. Roy holds his breath and strains his ears until he hears the soft swish of the duster. He spends the rest of the night lying awake listening to Levi clean away his anxiety and wishing he could have a drink to chase away his own.

The next day is more of the same: silent breakfast and stacks of reports and endless, airless limbo. Then, in the middle of the morning, when Roy is starting to have very dangerous thoughts about how early he will permit himself to have his one drink of the day, there is a knock on his office door. Alphonse pokes his head in, eyes bright and with a few rolled up maps tucked under his arm. "Do you have a minute?" he says. He is young and he is cheerful and he has lived through losing everything but still can't fathom how by solving his puzzle he is taking everything away from Roy.

Roy looks at Alphonse with a feeling in his stomach like he's just run the ODM assessment course without his goggles on. He takes off his glasses and places them carefully on top of the stack of reports he's been working through, lenses up so they won't scratch. He lays his hands flat on the desk and breathes in and out a few times, then plasters on a smile. "Of course," he says. "Come in."

* * *

The morning of the eighth day after the Amestrians arrived, Levi is up well before the sun, cleaning quietly in the kitchen. It's been just over a week since his life turned upside down. Yesterday, Alphonse had announced that he'd finished his calculations. Last evening, Roy had taken out his Amestrian uniform from the dark corner in the back of the closet and tried it on. Last night, Levi lay in bed listening to Roy breathe, every quiet inhale another grain of sand falling through the hourglass. In the early hours of the morning, Levi had given up and fled the room.

Cleaning is therapeutic. Levi doesn't understand how anybody can fail to see this fundamental truth of the world. There is no stain so stubborn it can't be erased; if water and soap don't work, there are always other chemicals to try. And if chemicals don't work, a dirty floor or wall can be refinished or repainted. Cleaning is a concrete task with a guaranteed reward at the end.

Levi's current target is the rust on the radiator. He is sitting cross legged on the floor, a kerchief over his mouth and nose, patiently scrubbing the metal with a metal brush and a liberal application of vinegar. The stink has long since stopped bothering his nose; he has been cleaning for at least three hours already. It is not quite six in the morning.

One benefit of cleaning the radiator, incidental to the actual cleaning of the radiator, is that Levi's back is to the doorway, and so he cannot see out into the living room where Roy's Amestrian uniform is draped over one of the chairs at the dining room table. Having any clothing draped over the chair is irritating, though Levi has become slightly inured to Roy's leaving his jacket there because he does it so often.

But because the offending article of clothing in this instance is Roy's Amestrian uniform, it cannot be ignored, though Levi has been trying his best to keep his thoughts focused on all the little rusted spots on the hard-to-reach areas between each radiator fin. There are a lot of rusted spots. From the looks of it, the radiator hasn't been properly cleaned since the day it was installed, and Levi's efforts since he and Roy moved in have been sporadic and in retrospect sadly lacking.

Levi puts down the brush and picks up a piece of steel wool instead, working it into a particularly tight crevice at the bottom of the fin closest to the stove. The fire in the stove is banked, but it's already quite warm outside; even with the window open, the heat from the stove is making this corner of the kitchen uncomfortably hot. Levi is sweating. He'll need to bathe when he's finished.

"It's a little loose," Roy had said last night, when he'd pulled the uniform out of the back of the closet and tried it on. It looked no less bizarre than it had the first day Roy had arrived, its bright blue hue artificial and garish, the golden braids on the shoulders flashy and pompous, the blanket of extra fabric draped around his legs pointless and alien. "But I didn't think …" He'd twisted around to look at himself in the mirror propped up against the wall, frowning. "All the rest of my clothing still fits fine. I didn't think I'd lost weight."

"You haven't lost weight," Levi had said, trying to keep his misery out of his voice. "Remember how tight you thought we wore our clothing when you first got here?" Roy had picked and pulled at his trousers obsessively when he'd first arrived, uncomfortable with the close fit. He'd been equally unhappy with the way the shirts had clung to his body. Levi had only found out much later that the vests Roy favored had been chosen for modesty, to pad and hide his shape when he was out in public.

Last night, staring in the mirror, Roy had only hummed in acknowledgment at Levi's assessment of Roy's weight. Then he'd spun around in a half circle; the impractical cape-thing had flared out in a manner that Levi could admit was a bit impressive. "It's strange," Roy had murmured, still staring at his reflection in fascination. He fingered the cape speculatively. "I forgot how odd the skirt is. We laughed about it when we were at the Academy. Then I got used to it. It doesn't look so silly when everyone is wearing one."

Levi had hummed as neutrally as he'd been able to manage. It's hard to imagine the skirt not looking silly.

"It's very blue," Roy had then added, fingering the coat. "I never noticed how bright."

"It's very bright," Levi had agreed, and then he'd left the room to reclean the already spotless kitchen, because seeing Roy in his Amestrian uniform made his stomach hurt.

Levi has spent years resenting Kenny for the way he'd left. Why it had been that particular day, Levi never learned. Levi had beaten a punk in a fight, but he'd beaten a lot of punks in a lot of fights before then. Had this one fight been more vicious than the others? Had the punk been bigger? Older? Had something about that fight told Kenny that Levi could finally survive on his own? Levi can't remember. He only remembers looking up and seeing Kenny's back as he walked away into the crowd without a word. Even though Kenny had left Levi alone plenty of times before, Levi had known just by looking at Kenny's back that Kenny wouldn't be returning and Levi was on his own for good.

It's been years since then but the sting of the unexpected abandonment has never faded, the severing of the most important relationship in Levi's life without even a single word of goodbye. But now Levi's wondering if Kenny had the right of it all along, if the quick cut hadn't been kinder in the end, because this slow drawn-out process of Roy's leaving is agony. Levi had lost Farlan and Isabel in an instant and he's been suffering that pain ever since, but at least the moment of loss had been singular. This is that same pain only stretched out over endless hours. Knowing that the waiting will be over soon isn't doing anything but making it harder for Levi to breathe around the misery clawing at his chest.

Levi attacks the radiator again, scrubbing so hard that bits of steel wool pierce his rubber gloves like stinging nettles. The pain is bright and sharp enough to distract him. Sweat runs down his temple and he rubs it away; the little bits of steel wool embedded in the gloves scratch his forehead.

Two more fins' worth of rust falls to Levi's methodical attack before he hears the door to the bedroom open, followed by Roy's lurching footsteps to the bathroom. A few moments later Roy comes into the kitchen, face slightly damp, a dab of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, squinting at the light streaming through the window.

"Bright," Roy complains. He sinks into a seat at the dinette and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. He's wearing only a pair of boxers, and Levi's eyes are drawn to the scar on Roy's lower abdomen where Roy had seared his own wound closed after being impaled by the homunculus Lust. That story is no less fantastical and horrifying for the half-dozen times Levi has heard it; Levi has spent hours obsessing about that fight, staring at the scar in the early hours of the morning when Roy's still sleeping, letting his fingers hover over the knotty, pebbled skin without touching it.

His obsessive worry is ridiculous. Roy survived the homunculus and killed her during that fight. She cannot come back to hurt Roy even if — even _when_ — Roy returns to his home. But that scar, among all the other scars Roy bears, haunts Levi in a way he cannot articulate. Roy had almost died. For all his great power, he had almost died, and he is going back to the place where that happened. Stupidly, Levi feels that Roy is safer here than in Amestris, even though he knows the opposite is almost certainly true. There are no Titans in Amestris and the homunculi are all dead. Amestris must be objectively safer than here.

But Levi cannot protect Roy there.

Roy removes his hands from his eyes and blinks into the sunlight, looking pained. His hair is mussed and he needs a shave. He licks absently at his lip to clear away the stray dot of toothpaste, and runs one hand through his hair, failing to restore it to any order whatsoever. He needs a haircut.

" 's late," Roy says. He sounds a little groggy. Neither of them has been sleeping well, but Levi has more practice at it. Levi stretches and rises from his seated position on the ground, stripping off his gloves and pouring out a cup of strong black tea he's been steeping on a low flame on the stove, sliding the cup across the table to Roy's waiting hands. Their fingers touch briefly; Roy's are still damp and cool from washing up.

Roy accepts the cup with thanks and sips gingerly at the tea, blowing on it to cool it. He finishes half the cup before he puts it down on a waiting saucer, yawning. Moisture forms in droplets at the corner of each eye and he wipes them away absently. "You should have woken me."

"I would have in a little while," Levi says. Now that Roy is here, Levi caps up the vinegar and puts it back in the cabinet. He rinses off the wire brush in the sink, then considers the steel wool. It is starting to fray but is still somewhat usable, at least by Levi's frugal standards. He takes the brush and the steel wool and stores them away with his gloves and the rest of the cleaning supplies. Roy is silent during this ritual restoring-to-order, but Levi can feel Roy's eyes on him as he bustles around the room.

When Levi is done, he pours himself a cup of tea to match Roy's, then retrieves some biscuits from the bread box. They are a few days old and going stale, but they will soften when dunked in tea, and Levi sometimes thinks he likes them better this way than when they are fresh. Maybe he used to eat them like that with his mother. He likes to think so, at least.

Roy eats more slowly than Levi, so that he is only halfway done with his first biscuit by the time Levi has finished his second. He looks distracted and thoughtful, bobbing the biscuit up and down in the liquid, then holding it over the cup, seemingly mesmerized by the drops of tea dripping slowly off the end. Levi realizes that from where Roy's sitting, he has a perfect view into the living room, where his uniform is draped over the chair like a discarded Amestrian flag.

"You wouldn't come with me if I asked," Roy says. It's a statement, not a question. He is not looking at Levi. Instead, he is staring at a big fat drop of tea suspended from his biscuit

The drop of liquid gets slowly bigger as more tea accretes, until eventually the surface tension cannot stand against gravity and the droplet falls. "No," Levi says. He can't leave. Won't. His life is not his own. He pledged it to Erwin and he pledged it to the Corps; he pledged it to Farlan and Isabel too, promised on their dismembered corpses to wipe out every last Titan. He is humanity's strongest soldier. He cannot abandon this fight.

"That's why I didn't ask." Roy lays his half-eaten, soggy biscuit on his saucer. "Because I didn't want you to have to say no. Or because I didn't want to have to hear it. I'm a … _feigling?_ Not very brave."

" _Lafaard_ ," Levi says. "You're not a coward. Not in any way. Don't be stupid."

Roy makes a small noise in the back of his throat, too vague for Levi to tell whether Roy is agreeing or disagreeing. Roy doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands now that he's given up on the biscuit. He's still staring at his tea cup. "Alphonse explained the alchemy to me. He says there is no way to lessen the … the _gezeitenkräfte_. When the portal opens, the wave of energy. Even if the portal is opened from this side, the explosion will be dangerous. Not so much in Amestris, but here, because the energy field is so much stronger."

Levi thinks of the circle of flattened grass and the shockwave of that strange energy that had driven the Titans crazy.

"So it will have to be outside the walls," Roy continues. "But he's found a spot not so far away that will be safe. Erwin's maps were very helpful."

Levi's presence on past expeditions had been responsible for the existence of those maps. He had kept the expedition members safe, guarded them as they worked. A few of the maps he'd even drawn himself, based on painstaking observations and measurements. That his own hard work is going to be in any way responsible for taking Roy away seems perverse; a disincentive to diligence.

Roy is staring into the living room at his uniform. He's frowning. Levi wants to reach out and wipe away the lines of frustration creased into Roy's forehead, but he keeps his hands wrapped firmly around his tea cup, soaking up the warmth from the porcelain.

"I wanted to be _führer_ ," Roy says. "I thought I could heal the country from what Bradley did to it."

 _Führer_ , Levi thinks. There's no cognate, but Roy's used the word before, and Levi's gathered it's some kind of title of leadership, not quite like a king, but maybe close. Roy had wanted that position for himself? That's preposterous, like Levi wanting to be king. But then again, maybe it is not preposterous at all. Roy is handsome, smart and charismatic, well connected, driven. And he is strong as fuck. _He is orders of magnitude more powerful than anyone else_ , Erwin had said, not so long ago. _If he wanted to rule this city — this_ world _— he could do it. With you by his side? Who could stop you, the two of you, together? Who would even try?_

For a moment, Levi imagines striding into a world he's never seen, at Roy's side, the two of them seizing power because no one is strong enough to stop them. Well, Levi supposes Alphonse could try. He is a stronger alchemist. _Was_ the stronger alchemist, perhaps. Roy's power and ability have grown here beyond what he might have conceived of as possible, maybe more even than he realizes. Levi has seen the expression on the faces of Roy's friends when they see him perform alchemy. A little stunned. A little apprehensive, even. Levi wonders, between Roy and Alphonse, who is the strongest now. Strength is more than power, sometimes. Strength is will. Roy has a ruthlessness within him that Levi thinks Alphonse doesn't. Levi saw that when they sparred. Roy made jagged walls and spears. Alphonse made mushrooms.

Roy picks up his cup and takes a healthy swallow, then replaces the cup carefully in the center of the saucer, into a small puddle of tea that leaked from the sodden end of the biscuit. "But I've been away for a year and a half, and Amestris is healing without me. The work to rebuild Ishval continues. Riza tells me Lieutenants Falman and Breda have been assigned to that project, and they are more than _fähig_. Able, that is. They'll do the job well." He pauses. "The military has given my responsibilities to someone else. Gerhard Scholz. I know of him a little. Maes knew him better. Not an alchemist, but he's smart and honest. Riza says he's far less lazy than I am. She likes him, I think, and so he must be a good man."

Roy sounds a little wistful. Levi supposes it must be depressing to realize that even when you are as powerful as Roy, you can still be replaced. Life goes on. Life would go on here, too, if Levi went to Amestris with Roy. Levi's not deluded enough to believe otherwise. But knowing that doesn't invalidate Levi's oath to Erwin or his promise to Farlan and Isabel.

"They'll find a new job for you," Levi says. He can't imagine any commander anywhere would be silly enough to cut Roy loose even after a year and a half.

"Of course," Roy says. "Führer Grumman is Riza's grandfather, and he is very fond of me. He'll give me whatever job I want."

"That's good," Levi says lamely, taken aback. He's known for a long time that Roy learned alchemy from Riza's father, but somehow, the fact that Riza's family was politically connected had never come up. He's also reassessing what the word _führer_ means. Perhaps there is more than one führer in Amestris. It would be strange for Roy to be plotting to take the position away from Riza's grandfather. At least he thinks it would be strange. Levi supposes he doesn't really understand the politics of Roy's world very well. It's never seemed important that he learn.

"Mmm," Roy murmurs. He sits quietly for a few moments, eyes straying over Levi's shoulder to the living room and the uniform. "I miss my aunt," he says quietly. "And my sisters. Not sisters. You know. And Gracia and Elicia, and even"—his voice drops down, like he's telling Levi a secret—"even Edward. And all my alchemy books, and _autos_ and the _telefon_ and _duschen_ and—"

"Roy," Levi interrupts. "No one will blame you for leaving. No one will hold it against you, or think less of you, even if your military has found someone else to do your job. You're allowed to want to go home."

Roy drags in a breath that catches in his throat. "I do want to go home," he says, in a voice barely above a whisper, like he's confessing. "I do want that. But …"

"We always knew," Levi interrupts. "From the beginning, we knew this might happen, that it might come to this."

Roy nods, deflated. He sits in his chair silently for several minutes, looking lost and almost as miserable as he did when he'd come to understand he'd likely be trapped here forever. Levi wants to make it better, for some value of 'it' and some value of 'better,' but can find no clever or thoughtful words, and he is afraid that if he speaks his own misery will be too obvious; on top of everything else, he doesn't want to make Roy feel even guiltier about leaving.

"Maybe we can visit," Roy says listlessly.

"Maybe," Levi answers, but he already knows that will only put off the inevitable, stretch the pain of loss out even longer. Anyway, with no alchemists on this side of the portal, there can be no two-way communication, and arriving outside the walls would be too dangerous for Roy to risk without knowing for sure someone would be there on the other side to greet him. And even if Roy were willing to risk it, even if Levi were willing for Roy to take that risk, what kind of a relationship could they have living a universe apart?

If this is obvious to Levi, it is likely doubly obvious to Roy, whose mind has always been quicker and more nimble than Levi's.

"I have to get ready," Roy says eventually. He rouses himself from his lethargic state and seems for the first time to realize he's eaten breakfast, or not eaten it, in just his underwear. He makes a face and sits up a little straighter as if to compensate. "I have a meeting with Erwin at eight. To review"—He frowns, unhappy—"transition plans." His enunciation of 'transition' is clear and deliberate, as it always is when he learns a new word. "I'm… I'm thinking of recommending he put Hannah in charge of the dormitory renovation. I know she's young still, but she's familiar with all parts of the project and she is very capable. And also, Gerrit and Pieter respect her. I think they'll be happy to work for her."

"That sounds like a good idea," Levi says, though he actually has no clue if it is or isn't, and he doesn't really care one way or the other. His only interest in the dormitory renovation arose from the fact that it was Roy's project; Roy has the habit of speaking to himself when he works, and Levi has spent many hours listening to Roy muttering under his breath as he pores over blueprints and requisition requests and contracts. Once Roy is gone — just the thought of that sends a spear of agony through Levi's chest — once Roy is gone, Levi doesn't think he'll care if the entire dormitory burns to the ground and the recruits have to live in tents.

"I think so. But Erwin is _unberechenbar_. I cannot guess whether he will agree." Roy gets up and carries his cup and saucer to the sink. His shoulder blades stand out in sharp relief as he bends over slightly to toss the uneaten half of his biscuit in the trash. Maybe he has lost weight after all during this past week, facing the looming threat and promise of returning home.

When Roy has disappeared into the bedroom to dress, Levi brings his own cup and saucer to the sink. He rinses out his dishes and Roy's, then places them carefully in the drying rack so they don't knock against each other. He rinses out the kettle too, then refills it with water and sets it back on the stove. He always keeps a kettle on the stove now, because Roy has grown even fonder of tea than Levi. He wonders how long it will take for him to break himself of that habit once Roy is gone.

By the time Levi has finished wiping all the crumbs from the table and sweeping the floor, being careful to get all the bits of rust and steel wool around the radiator, Roy is fully dressed and standing by the door to their quarters, pulling on his boots. He is wearing his on-duty browns, full harness in place. Underneath his jacket he's wearing the blue shirt that is still Levi's favorite. Roy has always seemed to like it too, and not just because he knows how much Levi does. Levi wonders if Roy will take it with him when he leaves, even if the style is all wrong for Amestris. Levi's not sure if it is or it isn't. All he has seen of Amestrian clothing is Roy's horrible uniform and what Riza, Alphonse and Havoc were wearing when they arrived: black trousers, black shirts, black boots. Combat gear, in case they'd have to fight to get Roy back, in case Levi's people wouldn't let Roy go.

"I'll see you for lunch?" Roy asks, and Levi nods yes. This could be the last lunch they have together if Roy leaves tomorrow. Roy still isn't sure when they are going back, but it won't be long now. The Amestrians have lives and duties to return to; they can't stay here indefinitely just because Levi wants more time with Roy. But now Levi is regretting every time Roy asked him to meet for lunch and he said no. He hadn't ever guessed he was running down a clock.

Roy gives him one long last miserable glance, then ducks out the door. Levi stands in the middle of the living room, surrounded by all the bits and pieces of Roy's life here with Levi. He thinks about Roy's blue shirt, that Roy may or may not take back to Amestris. And what about the rest of it? The piano, the golems, the shot glass, the chess set, the books and the rocks and the spinning top … will Roy take all of that back with him? Will he take any of it back? Maybe he will leave it all behind to make a clean break. Roy probably has a house full of clutter back in Amestris; why would he want any of this shit?

But if Roy doesn't take it, it will stay here, and Levi will have to look at it every day, and Levi is sure that will kill him. He decides he will have to get rid of all it immediately, whatever Roy leaves behind, even if that's everything; Levi will have to throw it all out or give it away; he will have to dispose of it because he may be humanity's strongest soldier, but he's not strong enough to come home to empty quarters and see reminders of the life he's lost.

Dully, Levi heads to the bathroom to wash. The water in the bucket is still quite warm, so Roy must have heated it again up before he left, because he knew that Levi would want to wash after spending hours scrubbing the radiator.

That's another thing he will have to get used to, Levi thinks, as he strips off his smelly clothing. No more warm water for bathing unless he is willing to go to the public baths. Levi detests the public baths. Not that he is unduly modest; he doesn't care if people see him naked. But people go to the baths when they are absolutely filthy, and they shed their dirt onto every surface. It's nauseating. So, he bathes at home, and he will have to return to bathing with cold water. That will be fine. He bathed with cool water all his life, before Roy. Well, he bathed with cold water since he started earning enough money to rent lodgings with running water. When he was living with Kenny, he's not sure he ever washed unless it was to clean off someone's blood.

Mechanically, Levi starts washing himself all over, as best he can without taking a bath, paying special attention to his feet, cleaning carefully between each toe. Sometimes Roy will clean Levi's feet. Levi has always found it a little strange, has wondered occasionally if it's some strange sexual kink, but Roy doesn't seem to get any particular thrill out of it, other than that he enjoys the specific intimacy. Sometimes, when Roy find Levi's feet to be in particularly bad shape, he will make Levi sit in the chair in the living room and soak his feet in a small tub of warm water, with magnesium sulfate crystals and baking soda mixed together, and then when Levi's feet start to wrinkle, Roy will dry them with a towel, pressing gently on all the tender spots, pushing his thumb into the pad of each toe and the ball of each foot. Levi feels embarrassed by the attention, but also cared for and pampered and incredibly relaxed. More than once, Levi has fallen asleep during this process, and later woken to find the basin put away, his feet clean and dry, and a blanket draped carefully over his body so he doesn't catch a chill.

Levi realizes that he has stopped all cleaning activity and that his washcloth is dripping water all over the floor. Irritated at making a mess, he swipes at the rest of his body quickly, washing off the stink of the vinegar and removing the bits of steel wool and flakes of rust that have attached themselves to his skin. When he is as clean as he can be, he tosses his dirty clothing in the laundry bucket to soak, wipes the water off the floor with an old rag, and pads naked to the bedroom for new clothing.

He has only one clean uniform at the moment, so getting dressed should only be a matter of picking one of his shirts. It will have to be either gray or white; that's all he owns. But even faced with this simplest of choices, he stands for a moment in front of the closet, staring blindly inside. He yawns. He thinks he slept perhaps two hours last night, and he has been up for almost five hours already. He has no meetings today, nothing he must do except meet Roy for lunch in a few hours; there is no one who will know or care if he lies down for just a few moments in the bed he shares with Roy, which will soon be the bed he shares with nobody.

For most of his life, Levi slept alone. He never minded it before.

Levi shakes himself. He is not going to get into bed. He naps only rarely, and now is not the time. Now it's time to get dressed and get moving. For several more minutes, he stares at his small collection of shirts, hanging neatly in the closet next to Roy's, whose clothing is much more varied and interesting: a collection of charcoal grays and vivid blues, another shirt of fiery red and yet another of vibrant, lush emerald green.

Levi's shirts are functional but plain and boring. There is not very much to distinguish between them. Some have buttons, others are pullovers. He doesn't prefer one style over the other, cares only that each of them is unsoiled and well-tended. He wears a cravat to keep his neck clean and protected, and because Farlan liked the way it looked.

Roy likes the cravats too. He especially likes them when Levi wears one to bed, and nothing else.

Abruptly, Levi turns away from the closet, still naked, and crawls into bed. He pulls the covers over his head like he is a child and closes his eyes for just a moment.

When he opens his eyes again, the sun has moved across the sky. It is apparently mid-morning. Napping usually leaves Levi groggy and disoriented, which is why he doesn't often indulge, but right now his head is perfectly clear. It is a moment of pure clarity: He knows without a doubt that he has made a terrible, phenomenal mistake.

Throwing back the covers, Levi hurtles out of bed and dresses in minutes. For a shirt he chooses one of his white pullovers, recently mended. The collar is a little stretched out, but the cravat will hide that. He pulls on his harnesses and fastens the buckles without thought. He pulls on his jacket, and then he is done but for his boots, which are waiting by the door, polished and gleaming. A minute later Levi is out the door and heading for Roy's office, where Roy will likely have gone directly after finishing his meeting with Erwin.

Levi reaches Roy's office faster than it seems he should if he were walking, or even if he were running, but he is in no fit shape to judge how fast he is actually moving. He is thinking only of his mistake and how to fix it.

Entering the building, Levi takes the steps to the second floor three at a time. Since the last time he was here, someone has hung paintings on the walls in the corridor: depictions of famous battles, stories from myth, the obligatory portrait of Queen Historia dressed in her royal finery. The floors have been recently cleaned and polished and the trim around the doors and windows has been repainted a brilliant white. All Roy's doing, undoubtedly. For someone who is such a slob in his living space, Roy is very particular about maintaining his buildings. He thinks it is a reflection on how well he does his job. He's probably right.

The door to Roy's office slams against the wall as Levi bursts in. Out of the corner of his eye, Levi sees Hannah reach for a weapon. An atypical response on base, but since Pinzer, everyone has been extra cautious with Roy's safety. Across the room, at Pieter's desk, is Riza Hawkeye; by the time Levi identifies her she is on her feet with a gun already drawn and cocked; that her default response is also to reach for a weapon is interesting. Havoc is here too, leaning against Pieter's desk. He is slower to react than Riza, but he's also reaching for his gun, so there is definitely some story there, though perhaps it is just that the homunculi scarred everyone in Amestris the way Pinzer scarred people here. Alphonse is nowhere to be seen, and Pieter and Gerrit are sitting together at Gerrit's desk, which is littered with paper. They are not holding nor reach for weapons, which is comforting, since Levi has seen them fight.

"Levi," Roy says, dropping an ignition glove back on the desk. Hannah sheaths her blade. Riza and Havoc holster their guns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Levi says. "No. Actually, I was. I was wrong. I didn't ask."

Roy blinks, brow furrowed. "Didn't ask what?"

"You," Levi says.

"Levi," Roy says, very gently. "You're not making any sense."

"I know. I know." Levi takes a deep breath. Hannah and Pieter and Gerrit are staring at him, Hannah's mouth slightly open. Riza and Havoc are also staring, Havoc with his brow furrowed as if he might suddenly start to understand Levi's language if only he concentrates hard enough. Levi isn't good with words and he's not particularly fond of having people stare at him. He cannot have this conversation here, in this room, with all these people watching. "Can we talk?" Levi asks. "In private."

"Of course." Roy looks around the room, realizes that there is nowhere private in it, and murmurs something to Hannah, who nods, and then adds something in Amestrian to Riza and Havoc. Riza nods too, like Hannah; unlike Hannah, she stares at Levi for a moment; her eyes are big and brown and assessing, her expression just a little cool. She doesn't dislike Levi, Levi doesn't think, but she is cautious around him, which is only fair, since Levi is cautious around her too.

Roy leads Levi out of his office and down the hall to a storeroom. He turns on a lamp and shuts the door behind them. The storeroom is crowded with extra furniture, mops and buckets, dirty paintbrushes, and also cardboard boxes of all sizes. Some of the boxes have been hand-labeled by Roy, a strange mixture of office supplies like pens, pencils and memo pads, cleaning supplies like soap and rags, blank commendation forms, and copies of the military code. "Sorry," Roy says, futilely attempting to make space for them by stacking some of the boxes on each other. "Gerrit is in charge of this room and he is more of a slob than me."

Levi thinks that's debatable. He remembers the disaster that was Roy's room when Roy had first arrived, the clutter that still seems to follow Roy around like a pack of dogs. That Roy is somewhat neater now Levi attributes to the brute force reconditioning of having lived with Levi for a year.

Roy is studying Levi's face. "What is it?"

Levi takes a deep breath. His head is suddenly pounding and his stomach is twisted in knots. He's glad he hasn't eaten anything since the biscuit earlier in the day. "I can't come with you."

Roy looks briefly stricken, but then his expression clears a little so that he only looks sad. "I know."

"I have to stay. I have to. I can't leave this fight."

"I know you can't," Roy says. "I understand. That's why I didn't—"

"—No," Levi interrupts. He wipes his hands on his trousers, fights the stupid and compulsive urge to grab one of the four available mops, even though holding a mop would undoubtedly make him feel better, as if he were in some sort of control. "I told you I was wrong. Just before, when I came in."

"You did. But I didn't know what you meant." Roy grins half-heartedly. "I still don't."

Levi tries to corral his frantic thoughts, to take what he knows and put it in some order.

Roy has to leave. Levi has known this since the moment he had seen the other Amestrians on the day they had arrived, maybe even from the moment Roy had bolted out of bed that morning and said, "Someone's doing alchemy outside the wall." His people have come for him, as Levi has always known they would, because no one who knows Roy would ever abandon him. They have come for him and Roy has to leave.

Levi can't go with Roy. Levi has known that too for as long as he has known Roy will leave, maybe even longer. Levi has to stay here to fight the Titans. That is an immutable fact.

He'd been stuck, so certain of these two truths that he couldn't conceive of an alternative. Hadn't allowed himself to see any other path forward, had been dully trudging towards the day Roy would be gone. He'd been so sure that he hadn't allowed himself to imagine any other outcome but that Roy would leave and Levi would stay. Not until he'd fallen asleep in their quarters and woken up alone, clarity washing over him like cold, clear water.

Levi takes a deep breath, takes one step forward, so that he is close enough to reach out and touch Roy, although he doesn't. "I can't come with you," Levi says. Firmly. With conviction. Lays out the first truth he knows in his bones. But then he takes the other truth he knows and discards it. "But you could stay with me."

Roy is startled into momentary silence and his eyes widen.

"Roy," Levi says, voice still clear and firm. He is more and more certain with every passing second that this is the right path. "I didn't ask you before, and I should have. So, I'm asking now." Levi has a sudden vision of himself getting down on one knee, but this isn't a proposal and anyway, the floor in the closet is filthy. "Will you stay?"

"I," Roy says, and shuts his mouth with a snap. He looks around the small storage closet in something like befuddlement and absently reaches out to straighten a box that is in danger of falling to the floor.

Levi grabs Roy's hand away from the box and clutches it tight, pulls Roy's bewildered eyes back to Levi's. "I know you miss your home," Levi says intently. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, and Riza and Alphonse and Havoc, and all of Amestris. But I love you."

Roy goes absolutely still. Stares hard at Levi. Says "what?" faintly.

"I love you," Levi says, slowly and clearly, so there is no chance of Roy misunderstanding. "And I want you to stay."

"You," Roy says, then stops. Stares around the closet again, his eyes lingering longest on a mop propped in the corner, handle down in a bucket, the dirty head pointing up to the ceiling. The head is still damp. Someone must have used it this morning.

Roy's eyes travel over all the cleaning implements in the closet: the mops, the brooms, the brushes; the buckets, the various kinds of soap. Eventually his gaze drifts back to Levi and he stares at him like he's almost surprised that Levi is still here. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes." Levi squeezes Roy's hand again, because for Roy, touch has always been more important than speech. But words are important too, even though Levi is usually bad with them. He takes a breath. "I love you and I don't want you to leave. Please stay. It doesn't have to be forever. Just for now. Until we beat the Titans. And then when we've won, you can go back to Amestris." Takes another breath, deeper and harder. " _We_ can go back to Amestris."

Roy draws in a short, shocked breath, then looks down to where Levi is holding his hand. He stares at their clasped fingers mutely. For the first since Levi has known him, he seems to have lost all ability to speak.

" _Roy_ ," Levi says. His heart is pounding through his ribcage, because this is it. He has nothing more to give.

Roy's gaze drifts up from their hands to Levi's face and he stares into Levi's eyes like he's searching for something. Levi hopes that whatever it is Roy's looking for, he'll find it. Levi would give him anything in the world. He just doesn't know if anything in _this_ world can be enough.

"Okay," Roy says eventually, voice cracking a little on the word.

Now it's Levi's turn to stare in disbelief, because he'd hoped, he’d _hoped_ , but he hadn't actually thought ... "Okay?"

"Okay," Roy says, this time with more assurance. As Levi watches, something like sunlight dawns across Roy's face, starting in the corners of his mouth and reaching to his eyes, spreading to every feature until he's glowing with it. "Yes. I'll stay."

Levi's heart flips. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I don't lie to you," Roy says, and Levi knows this is true, but _still_.

Roy glances down at their linked hands as if they might have disappeared when he wasn't looking. "I think maybe I wanted to stay," he says slowly, like he's thinking his words out one at a time. "In here." He taps his heart. "But I think … I think I needed you to ask." He looks up and grins then, sudden and bright and blinding. "I love you too, you know."

"Oh," Levi says, now the one struck almost dumb, but his head is light, like when he is using the ODM gear to soar through the sky. And then he leans forward and kisses Roy, because touch is how they first communicated, really. Since the day they met, Roy's arms wrapped tight around Levi's waist as they fled the Titans on horseback; through all the months of Roy's fumbling attempts at speech, touch has never failed them.

One kiss turns into several turns into many. To Levi it feels like that first day at the ruined castle all over again, with Titans all around and no hope of surviving, until a moron in a bright blue coat ran headlong into danger, flung his arm out like a weapon and wrested fire from thin air and life from certain death. Levi's heart is pounding the same way it did then: strong and steady and victorious. If a thousand Titans attacked now, Levi could kill every single one.

With a last small kiss, Roy pulls away. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are sparkling. For the first time in a week, he looks unreservedly happy. He reaches out to stroke Levi's cheek, then taps him on the nose in rebuke. "I cannot believe you told me you love me for the first time in a storage closet."

Levi blinks. When put that way, it doesn't sound great. Moblit will probably kick his ass. Metaphorically, at any rate, because practically he is incapable of doing Levi any injury whatsoever. "Well," Levi says, scuffing at a stain on the floor, "I didn't plan that part."

"I hope not," Roy says. "This isn't a very romantic place. Though now I may have a special, _ahm, vorliebe?_ For mops."

"Fondness," Levi says, sympathizing. "Almost the same."

Roy nods, repeating _voorliefde_ under his breath. Then he smiles and leans in to kiss Levi again, maybe just because he can. "Did you mean it," Roy says, when he pulls away, "that we could go back?"

"Yes, of course," Levi says. "Just not right now. We're close to winning. I can feel it."

"Yes," Roy says. "I feel it too." He squeezes Levi's hand once more, then opens the door to the closet, gesturing that Levi should exit to the corridor. "But you will have to work harder on your Amestrian. My aunt will want to meet you. And my sisters. You will want to know what they're saying."

His voice is gleeful in a way that makes Levi apprehensive, but not too much, because Roy takes his hand again as soon as they are both in the corridor and keeps holding it as they walk down the hall. They pass four people, all of whom blink at seeing Roy and Levi holding hands in a public hallway, but none of whom say anything. Roy's pace only falters when they reach his office. He hesitates before opening the door. "I don't know what I'm going to say to them. To Riza and Havoc and Alphonse. They worked so hard to find me. How will I tell them that I'm not going back?"

Levi remembers the look Riza gave them as they left Roy's office, cool and calculating. She won't be surprised, Levi thinks. She'll be disappointed, but he doesn't think she'll be surprised. "You'll think of something," Levi says, letting go of Roy's hand and reaching up to tidy his hair, which got a little mussed during the kissing. "You always do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand ... exhale. :)
> 
> I know it kind of feels like it's over, but we still have one or two more chapters to go before we put this baby to bed with a soft blanket and a kiss on the forehead. (One long chapter or two short chapters? I can't decide.)
> 
> Thanks as always to SapphireMusings who had to suffer through my agonized wailing earlier in the week about how the first section of this chapter was not cooperating AT ALL. Then, after I completely scrapped the original idea, she had to suffer through multiple drafts of the rewrite and my endless tweaking, all over one crazy 18 hour period. So much love for her. You have no idea what she has to put up with sometimes.
> 
> Art: look, Levi is sort of smiling!
> 
> Comments: oh my gosh, PLEASE. After this chapter in particular, which has been wringing me out to dry all week long, I need 'em.


	28. Don't dream it's over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amestrians leave, and we are almost at the end. 
> 
> Roy:  
> He's still anxious, only now he is anxious about _not_ returning, hoping he won't start second-guessing himself the moment the portal closes and he's still here. But Levi will be with him and it's not going to be forever; Levi has promised they will go back together when the war is won. Whether Levi meant that to be permanent or just for a visit isn't clear, but they can deal with that when the time comes. Roy is starting to think he won't care so much where he lives so long as he is with Levi.

"You're sure," Levi asks, for the tenth time. The tenth time that morning, which is impressive since they have only been awake for an hour.

"I'm sure," Roy says. He pulls the razor down his cheek carefully, then makes short work of his sideburns and neck. When he's done, he washes off the shaving soap and runs his fingers over his skin to check for any missed stubble.

"There," Levi says, pointing to a spot under Roy's chin.

Roy scrapes at it with the razor, then rinses off again and cleans the blade, wiping it on a towel and hanging it to dry all the way. He is dressed in his uniform trousers and an undershirt, his suspenders clipped on to his trousers but hanging down around his hips. He runs his hand through his hair, fixing the part, then exits the bathroom, Levi a few steps ahead of him.

"I just want to make sure—" Levi says, and Roy cuts him off with a sigh.

"I'm beginning to think you want me to change my mind," Roy says, though he knows that is the farthest thing from the truth. Levi just doesn't want him to regret his decision. A forlorn hope. Of course, Roy is regretful, but that part of him is small, and he would regret it more if he were leaving.

Levi stops in his tracks, turns around and pulls Roy forward to kiss him. He tastes of tea and biscuit, and Roy hums contentedly into his mouth.

"I don't want you to change your mind," Levi says when he releases Roy after a long and pleasant minute. He makes a needless adjustment to Roy's bangs, then lets his hands drift down to Roy's waist and fiddle with the suspender clips. "I thought you might wear your uniform. Your Amestrian one, I mean."

"I thought of it," Roy confesses. "But it's. _Ahm_. Bright."

Levi makes the strangled kind of noise that passes for his laugh. "That's one word for it."

"And they aren't wearing theirs," Roy says. "So there's no point to me wearing mine by myself. I almost gave it to Riza to take back, for … to keep it safe, you understand? But then I thought she would be upset, that she would feel I'm never coming back, and we have room here, so …" He shrugs. "It used to upset me to see it. I was happy to have it in the back of the closet because then I didn't have to look at it. But now, I think I won't mind so much."

Levi's expression is carefully neutral. Levi has a hate-hate relationship with Roy's old uniform, not only because he finds it hideous, but because for so long it was a symbol of a world which might someday pull Roy back for good. Roy thinks that aspect of Levi's distaste for the uniform might start to fade now that Roy has chosen to stay, but the aesthetic aversion is probably permanent. If he's being honest with himself, Roy would have to concede that he's starting to understand Levi's perspective. The blue is _very_ bright.

Levi heads into the kitchen to clean up from breakfast while Roy finishes dressing. He chooses a white shirt, crisp and clean, very much like what he would wear under his Amestrian uniform, except this shirt has buttons of tin, not mother-of-pearl. He pulls his suspenders up and over his arms, frowning a little at the loose fit of his trousers around his waist. Roy is sure he's lost weight these past few weeks, anxious about returning to Amestris after so long, even more anxious about leaving Levi behind.

He's still anxious, only now he is anxious about _not_ returning, hoping he won't start second-guessing himself the moment the portal closes and he's still here. But Levi will be with him and it's not going to be forever; Levi has promised they will go back together when the war is won. Whether Levi meant that to be permanent or just for a visit isn't clear, but they can deal with that when the time comes. Roy is starting to think he won't care so much where he lives so long as he is with Levi.

In the meantime, Roy has written long letters for Aunt Chris and his sisters and for Edward and Gracia; they are the people Roy cares most about in Amestris and he'll sleep easier knowing they know he's alive and happy. Alphonse is taking a present back for Elicia, Jean is taking back letters for Breda and Falman and Fuery, and Riza is taking back the longest letter of all for her grandfather, carefully composed and vetted by Erwin and General Pyxis.

Roy checks that all the bedroom windows are closed and locked, then leaves the bedroom fully dressed with his hair precisely tousled in a way he has been tweaking and perfecting since he was 15 and had first discovered pomade. Levi is waiting for him at the dining table, sipping at a cup of tea, his third for the morning, which betrays his nerves in a way his calm demeanor does not. He's reading the hastily prepared mission briefing, a frown creasing his forehead. "I don't understand Erwin's fascination for ruins. We've never found anything useful in them."

"We found three cases of wine in the last one." Roy doesn't care about the ruins. Roy thinks the mission is a sham, its sole purpose to take Roy's mind off the fact that his friends are leaving without him. Levi agrees that is part of Erwin's motivation, but only part. Levi doesn't trust Erwin to do anything that is not to his direct benefit to some degree. Levi thinks Erwin must therefore be hoping to gain something of value from the ruins. That may be true; doing something that is considerate and self-serving at the same time is very classic Erwin.

Meanwhile, Levi has read the mission specifications five times in the past day without gaining any useful intelligence, so far as Roy can tell, so the rereading, like the compulsive tea drinking and the way Levi spent all last night scrubbing the grout in the bathroom, is simply to calm Levi's nerves. Roy is sympathetic: To deal with his own nerves, he'd allowed himself an extra drink last night — actually just an extra half — and spent two hours very thoroughly debauching Levi in every room in their quarters.

Levi has set out a cup of tea for him, but Roy's bladder doesn't like it when he drinks too much before getting on a horse, so he ignores the tea and instead takes his travel bag from where it is leaning against the wall by the door to their quarters and rifles through the contents one last time, checking that all the letters he wrote are there, along with the present for Elicia and a thick sheaf of notes for Edward regarding the peculiarities Roy's observed about this world's transmutation energy field. Alphonse will be able to give a first-hand account, of course, but Roy had written the notes to help himself understand what he was experiencing, and they are quite detailed. In any event, he thinks Edward will find them interesting and perhaps have some hidden insight that might help Roy take better advantage of the environment here. Maybe he'll even be able to figure out how to improve the energy surge technique so that it doesn't leave Roy on the verge of collapse. Roy is guardedly optimistic on this point; even having lost access to his gate, Edward remains the best theoretical alchemist Roy has ever known.

Tucked in the bottom of the travel bag is a small metal teething ring. Roy made it himself in a fiendishly difficult bit of alchemy; the ring is intricately etched with a tessellating pattern that took Roy hours to design and five attempts to craft to his satisfaction. Winry has never much cared for Roy but Roy still hopes she will let the baby gnaw at the toy when he or she starts to teethe.

A baby Elric. Edward Elric a father. Roy is still struggling to wrap his mind around _that_. He's equal parts dismayed and relieved that he won't be there to see this momentous event in person.

Levi finishes reading the report, sighs and puts it down. He peers into his tea cup to find it empty, which makes him sigh again.

"Three cups is enough for one morning," Roy says, refastening his travel bag. "Unless you want to get off your horse every ten minutes to piss."

Levi scowls at him and heaves himself to his feet, then heads into the kitchen to rinse out his tea cup and the extra one too, returning momentarily with a rag to wipe down the table. The wiping is for form's sake, Roy thinks. The table is as spotless as the rest of their quarters. Levi has been under intense stress since the Amestrians arrived, and no amount of dust can withstand Levi's stress-cleaning.

Levi deposits the dirty rag in the bag he keeps just for this purpose then goes to the bathroom, leaving the door open purposefully so that Roy can hear the stream hit the water in the toilet.

Roy laughs to himself. Edward had once done the exact same thing, but he'd been 16 and a brat. It is one of many ways Levi reminds Roy of Edward that Roy will never, ever tell Levi about.

"Ready?" Roy asks, when Levi comes out of the bathroom.

"Yes," Levi says, then stares at Roy for a moment. "Are you _sure_ you—"

"Levi," Roy interrupts firmly. "I love you." The words still feel funny coming out, but Roy has been practicing for the past couple of days and saying them is getting easier. "But if you don't stop asking me if I'm sure I want to stay, I will light your ass on fire." He holds a hand up, poised to snap, though he's not wearing the gloves so the threat is a little empty.

Levi scowls at him then throws up his hands. "Fine," he says grumpily. "I'll stop asking." He turns out the lamps throughout their quarters while Roy checks the windows, then comes to the door to pull on his boots, one after the other. Roy usually has to sit down to pull on the knee-high boots or else risk falling over, but Levi never has a problem keeping his balance. Somehow Levi even manages to look graceful, almost balletic. "For the record, you love my ass too much to set it on fire."

This is incontrovertibly true, but, "Just to … what is, to burn it a little. Ah. Singe. I would only singe it to teach you a lesson. And then I would put cream on it and change the bandages every day." Roy hums speculatively. "This idea sounds better and better to me."

Levi makes an obscene gesture in his direction, then grabs his own pack and wrests the door open a little more violently than is necessary.

Roy looks at him standing there waiting and scowling, and feels a swell of affection so strong it threatens for a moment to stop his breath. "Thank you," he says in a rush.

Levi blinks, glances at the door as if it might offer an explanation, then back at Roy. "For what?"

Roy turns out the last lamp in their quarters and steps into the hall. "For being so strong and so brave."

Levi looks at him guardedly, suspicious as always of any compliment. "What are you talking about?"

"I … I might have left today. I would have." Thinking it makes Roy slightly nauseated now, how close he'd come to making the wrong choice. "You asked me to stay."

Levi shifts his stance, looking away uncomfortably. "That was selfish, not brave."

"It was brave _because_ it was selfish." Roy wouldn't have stayed for Erwin; he wouldn't have stayed for Moblit or Mike or Hannah. He wouldn't have stayed for them even if Levi had asked on their behalf. But Levi hadn't asked for anyone else or because he needed Roy's help to win the war; he'd asked because he'd needed Roy, not as a soldier or a weapon, but just as himself. He'd asked because he loved Roy enough to ask him to stay for no other reason than that Levi wanted him to. Roy himself hadn't been brave enough to ask Levi to come to Amestris. Selfish enough, yes; Roy was more than selfish enough for that. But he hadn't been brave enough to be that vulnerable, to admit that he wanted something for himself that badly, and damn the consequences to anyone else.

"You have a strange definition of bravery," Levi says, but he's blushing the way he does sometimes, so Roy knows that he understands.

Roy leans in to kiss him, because he's standing there flushed and flustered and Roy is the only one who can make him react like that. That means Roy is also the only one who gets to see him like that. Roy kisses Levi, and loves him in that instant more completely than he thought it was possible for any one human being to love another.

"For fuck's sake," Roy hears, though the tone is fond more than exasperated. "At least I know why you're late."

Roy straightens up. Levi is already scowling at Moblit, who is grinning back.

"We're not late," Roy says.

"You would have been," Moblit says blithely. "I know how this goes. First, you're kissing and it seems innocent enough, but then the pants come off and it's at least an hour before you leave your quarters. It's cute when we're not all waiting for you to get your asses down to the stables."

"Fuck off," Levi says, red still staining his cheeks. He brushes past Moblit to head down the hall.

Moblit laughs. "He's cute when he's embarrassed. If short and angry is your thing. Well, obviously it's _your_ thing." He pauses, lets his expression slip a little more towards serious, though because he is Moblit, he is never altogether serious. It is one of the qualities Roy most admires in him. "Are you all right? Really?"

"Yes." Roy locks the door to their quarters, then follows Moblit towards the stairwell. Levi is far ahead of them, already stomping his way down the stairs.

"You sure? You're not just saying that to keep Levi from freaking out?"

"I'm all right," Roy says, and it is true, he is all right, though he's not sure how he'll be in a few hours, standing at the portal, saying goodbye to Riza and Jean and Alphonse. He hopes he'll be all right then too. He thinks he will be, with Levi there and Moblit and Mike and Hange there too, and a mission to complete, no matter how thin and sketchy.

"Well," Moblit says, just a little bit skeptical, "you let me know if you you're not, okay?"

"Okay," Roy agrees, and they head out of the building and over to the stable to collect their horses.

They ride doubled up, Riza with Roy, Alphonse with Levi, and Jean with Moblit. The other Corps members spread out in front and behind them, guarding against Titan activity though they don't expect any this early in the morning and this close to the city. The Titans will come after Alphonse has transmuted the portal open, but the Amestrians will be safely gone and the Scouts will be ready for battle.

The ride to the location Alphonse has identified to open the portal is not too long, under two hours at a comfortable pace for the horses. It gives them plenty of time to talk. Roy spent less time with the Amestrians than he might have had he realized he was going to be staying, but that's yesterday's snow. _Verleden tijd_ , Levi would say. Past tense.

Alphonse tells him that he has been working closely with May Chang to document the most fundamental differences between alchemy and alkahestry; they had been planning a trip to an ancient alkahestry school on the westernmost edge of Xing when Roy had disappeared. Now that Roy has been found Alphonse expects the trip is back on. Alphonse blushes every time he mentions May's name and Roy hums suggestively, just loud enough for Riza to hear. Riza pokes him in the side and tells him to hush but she doesn't say he is being stupid. Roy finds himself intensely glad that Alphonse is getting a chance to be 18 and have a crush on a cute girl.

Jean's considering leaving the military again. His parents are getting older and considering closing their shop. Jean never wanted to run the family business but he'd enjoyed it for those months he'd been in the wheelchair, and now that Roy's not coming back, Jean's wondering if maybe the time hasn't come to resign.

"You weren't staying in just for me," Roy says, aghast, and Jean snorts and tells him no; Lt. Colonel Scholz is a nice enough guy but more of a stickler for protocol than Roy. Riza mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath at that; Roy isn't sure but he thinks her derision is aimed at him, not Scholz.

"It's just not the same," Jean says, with Roy gone and Breda likely transferring over to Investigations as soon as his promotion comes through, and Riza spending most of her time doing mysterious things for her grandfather.

"You can stay here," Moblit offers him in heavily accented Amestrian. He cranes his head around and grins mischievously at Jean. "We fashions you."

" _M_ _ögen_ ," Roy says while Jean is mouthing " _moden_ " in befuddlement. "He likes you." Roy is definitely going to have to start working on a dictionary and a phrasebook as soon as they get back. He's also going to have to convince Moblit to come to at least some of Levi's language lessons. Moblit clearly has an ear for languages and Levi will do better if he has a partner to practice with. Roy just needs to figure out a way to set the lessons up so that they don't end up with Levi murdering Moblit in the process.

Riza doesn't speak much, but that is nothing unusual, though in some moments her silence feels especially heavy and her grip around Roy's waist tightens. It is in those moments that Roy wonders most strongly if he has made the wrong choice after all, but then he looks at Levi and knows he hasn't.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Roy asks quietly, and the formality feels strange but appropriate when they are in this intimate position.

"I'm fine, sir," Riza says, but she rests her forehead on Roy's back.

Roy doesn't say anything to that, and a moment later Riza lifts her head and Roy can feel her shifting behind him, her posture military straight, the instant of vulnerability over as if it had never happened. Roy feels Levi's gaze on them both, but Levi stays silent and when Roy looks over to him, Levi is looking straight ahead.

Alphonse has the worst of it being paired with Levi, who doesn't talk much on a good day and whose Amestrian hasn't progressed much yet even after several months of lessons. He still hasn't sorted out _the_ and stubbornly persists in using only _der._ They make a quick pitstop after about an hour and Roy checks in with Alphonse, who says he is enjoying the ride and that Levi is an excellent horseman. "He's very solid," Alphonse adds after a moment, making some weird motion with his hands; it takes Roy a minute to realize Alphonse is mimicking wrapping his arms around Levi's waist.

"He's all muscle under the uniform," Roy agrees, and snickers when Alphonse blushes.

Levi and Moblit head off to the trees to relieve themselves; Moblit being as fond of early morning coffee as Levi is of tea and as equally prone to disregard the bladder consequences. Roy overhears Moblit asking Levi if he's okay, if Roy's okay; Roy wonders how gently his friends will treat him once the portal has closed. Very gently, he supposes, and just the thought warms him from the inside.

Riza to her credit doesn't ask Roy a single time during the entire ride if he is sure he wants to stay, and doesn't press once for him to come back with them. "Just don't do anything stupid," is all she says when they finally reach their destination, and then she hugs him tightly enough that Roy feels his lungs constrict under the pressure on his rib cage.

Roy grins at her and tries to ignore the way his eyes are stinging. "You should know better than to ask for a promise like that." 

Riza rolls her eyes, then turns to Levi, who is lurking a few feet away, scanning for Titans though there have been no signs of any.

"Levi," Riza says. She waits until he has turned to face her. " _Hou hem veilig_ ," she says smoothly, her accent flawless. _Keep him safe._

Levi blinks in surprise, but then he nods once, curt and professional. "I will," he says, then repeats it hesitantly in Amestrian, " _Ich werde._ "

Riza nods back, one colleague to another. Roy wonders if Levi understands how high a compliment it is that Riza is entrusting Roy's safety to Levi, and not just because she thinks Roy is a blockhead who can't be trusted not to trip over his own feet.

Levi takes up position as a sentry, scanning for Titans. Moblit is busy tethering the horses to a tree safely out of range. Roy turns to Jean, who is rubbing his butt with a grimace. Jean gives Roy a wry grin. "I can't believe we came all this way to find you and you're staying here," he says, though he doesn't sound reproachful. Maybe a little wistful, maybe a little bemused. He glances at Levi, then away, and when he turns back to Roy, his eyes are warm.

"You did find me," Roy points out. "The mission was a success."

Jean grunts. "Not sure everyone's going to agree with that assessment. Though Führer Grumman might be relieved he doesn't need to keep looking over his shoulder for you."

He won't be, Roy thinks, but doesn't say. Grumman won't be relieved; he'll be just as worried as ever, maybe more. Roy had always been a lurking threat to Grumman's power if not an imminent one. Roy's decision to stay behind will be perceived in at least some quarters as a decision to align himself with a foreign army, making him that much more potentially dangerous should he return with that army at his back. Roy's letter to Grumman is an attempt to allay any concerns the Amestrian military may feel, so as to avert any possible preemptive strike.

Of course, the military here is even more concerned, envisioning an invading army of alchemists backed by an Amestrian military force with weapons and capabilities far beyond what this world could muster in its defense. Erwin told him, in confidence, that serious consideration had been given at the highest levels of the military to detaining the Amestrians indefinitely, but Pyxis had argued persuasively against that course of action, saying that Amestris might have taken it as an act of war and descended in force.

It would be possible, Roy had conceded, grudgingly, and it is still possible that knowledge of this world, with its seemingly infinite well of transmutation energy, might prompt some rogue alchemist into foolish action. It seems far more likely than an invasion occurring the other way around, though in Roy's experience, paranoia holds undue sway in many military decisions, and he doesn't truly trust either world's commanding officers to act rationally.

In any event, Alphonse has assured Roy that no one in Amestris could create a portal besides Alphonse himself, and that is probably true, at least for the moment. It is certainly true there is no one on this side who could do it but Roy. Roy is still leery of what might happen once the knowledge of an alternate universe becomes more widely spread in Amestris, but that is a worry for another day.

Alphonse is kneeling on the ground, sketching a transmutation array with quick but deliberate strokes. He doesn't hesitate as he marks sigil after sigil, and the array takes shape in only a few moments, drawn with an elegant competence Roy has always admired. "Well," Alphonse says, standing up and rubbing the chalk dust off his hands and onto his trousers, "that should do it."

Roy has never once found a single mistake in any of Alphonse's arrays, but he reviews this one anyway, checking and rechecking the route the energy will take as it flows through the circle. Unsurprisingly, the path is solid and secure, all the intentionality portholes securely blocked off and fastened tight. Alphonse could not change the outcome of this transmutation even if he wanted to.

"All good?" Alphonse asks, standing shoulder to shoulder with Roy. If he's still growing, he might end up taller than Roy in the end. He might well be still growing; he's only 18. At 18, Roy had just entered the Academy and was struggling to adapt to all the rules and regulations — a rude shock after his haphazardly supervised childhood. If he'd known what was to come, Roy thinks, if he'd had any kind of clue where his impulsive decision was going to lead, he might have turned around and run back to the safe chaos of his aunt's house.

But then he'd never have met Maes; never have lost him. Never have gone to Ishval and become the murderer/savior of a war. He'd never have met the Elrics at all, and Ed might still be stuck in that wheelchair, Alphonse still in the armor. Roy would never have met Levi.

As if sensing the direction of Roy's thoughts, Levi spins around. He stares at Roy for a moment, eyes narrowed, then he tilts his head to the side, eyebrows raised in a question. _Are you all right?_ is what he's asking, and Roy nods with a short quick smile. Levi relaxes, nods, then turns back to the horizon, and Roy indulges himself in studying Levi's profile for a moment: the perpetually furrowed brow half covered by jagged bangs; the sharp straight slash of his nose; dark hair falling over his ears strategically hiding the gray lurking underneath; small aristocratic mouth almost always frowning.

Alphonse hums quietly, startling Roy out of his reverie. "He reminds me a lot of Ed," Alphonse says mildly.

"He's less excitable than Edward," Roy says back, just as mild, only a little bit of heat in his cheeks from having been caught staring soppily at his lover.

"Everyone is less excitable than Ed." Alphonse cocks his head and purses his lips, looking at Levi with an assessing gaze. "But Ed has calmed down a lot. Even more since you disappeared. He'll be disappointed that you stayed here but I think he'll understand. Especially when we tell him about Levi."

Heat floods Roy's cheeks, a full blush this time. "It's not. I mean, it's more than just Levi."

"I know. You're doing good work here. It's important." Then Alphonse shifts his weight slightly, so his shoulder bumps into Roy's. He's teasing. "But it's mostly Levi, right?"

Roy pauses. Levi spins around again and frowns at Roy for no reason that Roy can discern, then glares at Alphonse for good measure. His brow is creased and his nose is crinkled and Roy loves him so much. "It's mostly Levi," Roy admits.

"Good," Alphonse says sunnily. "I'd hate to think you were staying because you're the only alchemist in this world and you have some delusions about taking it over. Because you know I'd have to stop you."

"I'd like to see you try," Roy says. He jerks his head towards the chalk marks on the ground. "The array's perfect, as always."

"Good," Alphonse says. "You've got my notes?"

"I've got your notes." Alphonse's notes are works of art. Roy's not sure when Alphonse learned to write so prettily; he didn't think that Alphonse had such impeccable fine motor control while in the armor, but you wouldn't know it looking at his beautiful penmanship now. Edward's handwriting is predictably illegible, which he used to blame on the automail and now blames on his ongoing readjustment to his flesh-and-blood arm, but Roy's pretty sure it's just that Edward's thoughts are too rapid for his hand to keep up with them. Alphonse's notes are also perfectly organized; he even has an index. Roy doesn't want to imagine what Edward's notes would look like. Actually, he doesn't need to imagine it. He'd suffered through years of reading the random collection of words that comprised Edward's reports.

"And you're sure you can—"

"Alphonse," Roy interrupts. "I may not have been a 10-year-old alchemical prodigy, but I know my way around a transmutation array. I'll be fine."

"All right," Alphonse says with a sigh. "Then we'll expect to hear from you in a month. Don't do anything stupid before then."

Roy laughs. "Riza already made me swear not to."

Alphonse hums skeptically. Then he checks the sky and says, "We should do it now, before it gets any later."

Roy nods, feeling an unexpected pang, and gives Alphonse a long, tight hug. Then he hugs Riza and Jean, and then Riza again, pretending not to notice the moisture pooled in the corner of Riza's eyes, discreetly wiping at his own eyes when nobody's looking.

Levi comes to stand at Roy's left; an instant later Moblit's warm, welcome presence appears at Roy's right.

"Um," Alphonse says. "You're going to want to move back, actually." He waves with his hand in the general direction of the clearing where the rest of the squad is waiting. "Unless you want to come with us or get smushed."

"We don't want to get smushed," Roy says. He doesn't comment on whether or not he wants to go with them. "How far back?"

"Outside the blast radius. It still might be a little uncomfortable when the wave hits but I don't think it'll do any damage."

Roy does not say, "You _think?"_ but only by dint of biting his cheek.

"Fifty meters should be far enough," Alphonse says. "You can measure the circle afterwards to see how big it is so you'll know better for next time, but for this time, safe is safe."

"Safe is safe," Roy echoes, then tells Levi and Moblit they will have to move back. Levi and Moblit nod but make no move to retreat, and Roy realizes they are waiting for him so he will not have to walk away from his friends alone. Gratitude surges through him and wets his eyes again; he's still confident he's making the right decision, and he's sure he will be fine _later_ , but right now that the moment has come to say goodbye, he is not so fine after all.

"Thank you," he says, making sure he meets Riza and Alphonse and Jean's eyes individually. "For coming for me. Even though I'm not going back with you, I still … " He fumbles to a halt. Swallows. Thinks about saying 'I love you' but the words don't make it out of his throat. Maybe next time, after he's practiced with Levi some more. "It means everything," he says instead.

Riza's eyes are soft and sad, but then she straightens and stiffens her spine. She snaps her hand to her forehead in a textbook perfect salute. Jean follows only an instant behind. "General Mustang," Riza says formally. "Requesting permission to return to Amestris, sir."

Roy hasn't saluted anybody in a year and a half, but his body remembers and moves without any conscious direction on his part. He stands straight and tall, his hand bladed at his temple. He holds the pose for a little longer than protocol or good manners would deem necessary, then drops his hand down at his side and says, "Permission granted, Lieutenant."

Riza and Jean drop the salute, and Alphonse smiles, then makes a little shooing motion with his hands. "Fifty meters, General."

Roy nods, then turns. Levi and Moblit pivot and they walk together, Levi's arm brushing up against Roy's with every step, their fingertips occasionally touching. Roy's eyes are tearing, his heart is pounding and he feels kind of sick; it's only Levi and Moblit's presence at his side keeping him together. _It's_ _fine,_ he tells himself. _It's fine; you're fine; this time you chose it._ It helps, at least somewhat, but not as much as it does when Levi takes Roy's hand and squeezes tight.

"You okay?" Moblit murmurs. He's looking straight ahead so Roy can pretend that he hasn't heard if he doesn't want to answer, because as much as Levi likes to complain about him, Moblit is a good man with a big heart, and even Levi knows it.

"I'm okay," Roy says, but he gives Levi's hand an extra squeeze anyway.

When they're far enough away, they turn around and wave. Across the field, the three Amestrians wave back. Then Alphonse claps his hands and bends to the ground. There is a flash of light, and then a huge outpouring of energy that lights every cell in Roy's on fire. It burns. He loses his balance under the onslaught and tumbles to the ground with a pained shout. Next to him he hears Levi cursing, which is comforting. If Levi is well enough to be cursing, then he probably isn't seriously injured.

The portal closes a moment later with a great flare of light that illuminates the sky then quickly fades to a point and disappears.

Roy sits heavily on the ground for a moment, staring at the sky as afterimages play across his retinas. His nerves are tingling and his ears are ringing with a high-pitched whine, but otherwise he is uninjured. Levi is already back on his feet. He seems less affected than Roy; Moblit, off to the side, doesn't seem to have been affected at all. He's got his hand shading his eyes and he's staring at the spot where the Amestrians have disappeared, muttering something under his breath about magic.

After another minute, Roy staggers to his feet. "A little uncomfortable my ass, Alphonse," he says sourly, wiping the dust out of his eyes and running a hand through his hair to restore it to an appropriate state of tidy disorder. Even from this distance, he can see the scorched black scar of the transmutation array in the ground, all the grass in a radius of around 20 meters around it burnt to a crisp. Outside the circle there is no sign of anything amiss.

"You okay?" Levi says. His voice is light but he's watching Roy carefully, absently brushing off the seat of his trousers where he hit the ground. Roy has a brief, lascivious thought of checking Levi's ass later to see if there is a bruise.

"I'm fine," Roy says, and he means more than just physically. The portal to Amestris has closed and Roy is still here and Roy … is fine with it. He takes a deep breath, feeling lighter than he would have thought possible, now that the time when he could have changed his mind has passed. He takes a deep, cleansing breath and shakes his head once or twice to get the ringing in his ears to stop. "We should leave before the Titans come." Which could be ten minutes or it could be an hour, depending how far away the closest Titans are. But the Titans _will_ come.

Levi stares at Roy for another minute until, apparently satisfied with whatever he sees in Roy's face, he jerks his head to the tree where Moblit had tethered their horses. "After you."

Moblit holds his hand up. "One thing first," he says. He turns and stares at Roy for a moment, squinting at him suspiciously, then sticks a finger in Roy's face and accuses, " _General_ Mustang?"

"Um," Roy says. He is still a little rattled by the burst of transmutation energy and his brain is not quite processing. He looks over at Levi, who raises a single eyebrow but says nothing. "Yes."

"General."

Roy's sure they just covered this. "Yes."

"Like General Pyxis? That kind of general?"

Roy blinks and spends a few seconds feeling stupid. Levi is standing with his feet apart and his arms crossed on his chest, staring at Roy in a determined kind of way that bodes nothing particularly good for Roy. "Yes?"

"You're a general."

"… in Amestris," Roy says. He isn't sure if he even has a real rank here. He thinks perhaps he was granted one when Erwin officially made him a member of the Corps, but he wasn't literate enough at the time to read the paperwork carefully, and since then everyone has always just called him Roy. Most people in the Corps seem to call each other by name, even Erwin; Roy's always assumed this meant that rank is largely irrelevant here, but perhaps that comes from living with Levi and is not representative of the larger military community.

Moblit glances at Levi, seemingly stunned into silence, at least momentarily. But Moblit being Moblit, this state of affairs does not last for long. "You weren't even 32 when you got here. Does Amestris have a lot of 31-year-old generals?"

"No?" Roy is getting a little concerned that his brain got rattled harder than he thought, because he can't understand why Moblit is fixated on this. It's not like his Amestrian rank matters here. "Just me. The others are much older." So far as he knows, at least. He supposed anything might have happened in the past year and a half, though Riza would probably have told him if there had been a rash of promotions.

"… well," Moblit says, after a long pause. "Fuck me." He starts walking across the field, glancing at Levi. "Did you know he was a general?"

"No," Levi says, articulating very precisely. His steps are slow and measured. "I did not."

"What?" Roy is baffled. "Surely I've told you this before."

"You didn't," Levi said, and Moblit shakes his head.

Roy pauses, a frisson of apprehension shooting up his spine. "Are you certain?"

"Very," Levi says. " _General_ Mustang."

There is a note in Levi's voice that makes Roy uneasy. "But it doesn't matter. I'm only a general in Amestris."

"Oh, I don't know," Moblit says with a happy hum, looking absurdly pleased with himself. They've reached their horses, and Moblit undoes the reins from where they are tied around the tree trunk. "I can't wait to tell Erwin you outrank him."

"I don't outrank Erwin." But Moblit has already swung himself up onto his horse and is galloping off towards the clearing where Hange and the others are waiting. "I don't outrank Erwin," Roy repeats, this time to Levi, who is checking his own horse and seems to be ignoring Roy. "Levi …"

Levi raises an eyebrow at Roy again and shifts into parade rest. "Sir?"

Fuck, Roy thinks despairingly. He is in so much shit. "You know it's not … I wasn't trying to have it as a secret. I thought you knew. It doesn't even matter here."

"I didn't say it did," Levi says calmly. "Sir."

Roy sighs and wonders if it's too late to reopen the portal and escape. Oh, good lord, Moblit is already talking to Hange. Moblit points at Roy and gesticulates widely; Hange's answering cackle reports across the field like a shotgun. Roy is doomed. They're going to be sassing him for the next month.

When Roy turns back to Levi, Levi is standing and watching him, one corner of his mouth lightly turned up in the faintest of smiles. "I should have guessed, really," Levi says, swinging himself lithely up onto his mount. "You do love ordering people around."

"Shut up," Roy orders in a pissy tone, and Levi's grin grows a little wider.

Over Levi's shoulder, the sun is emerging from a fluffy white cloud, one of many spread across the sky like dabs of foam on the ocean. The birds displaced by the portal's activation are flying cautiously back, complaining loudly in song; insects are buzzing merrily. A curious rabbit pokes its nose into the blackened circle of grass, twitches its nose, and bounds away in the opposite direction. The rabbit has the right idea, Roy thinks. The Titans will be here soon.

Levi's horse steps around uneasily, so Levi leans forward and strokes its nose to calm it. He squints into the distance. "We should go," he said. "The farther we get away, the fewer Titans we're likely to have to fight before we get to the ruins."

"You love fighting Titans," Roy says, hoisting himself up onto his own horse and nudging it forward with gentle pressure.

"I love fighting Titans with you," Levi corrects. "Not so much when I have to worry about everybody else."

Roy snorts. " _Blödsinn_. You love to show off in front of them, and you know it."

Levi leans forward, urging his horse a little faster. He peers over his shoulder at Roy, his eyes alight. "Maybe," he says. "You want to go show off together?"

"Always," Roy says with a grin, and lets Levi lead them into the sun.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're actually here. Only the epilogue left -- coming this weekend. I'm going to miss this story so much. :(
> 
> As you can see, I decided to post this shorter-than-usual chapter and the epilogue separately. I'll say it again in the final chapter, but thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has read and supported this exceedingly rare pairing. Love to you all!
> 
> Art: Should probably have been just Roy and Levi, but I really wanted to give Moblit one last appearance. :)
> 
> Thanks again as always to my trusty beta, SapphireMusings. What would I do without her? 
> 
> Comments: I know sound like a broken record, but if you want to make my day, there's no better way than leaving a comment. Whether you've left several already or never left one before, I'll still be thrilled! Also, my birthday's in a couple of days, so you could think of it as a birthday present. (I have no shame.)


	29. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the curtain falls. 😕 For now. 🙂
> 
> Friendly reminder: S4 of AoT isn't even background for this story. It's not lurking behind the scenes waiting to emerge. 
> 
> Levi:  
> In the living room, two small suitcases stand side by side near the dining room table. They are second-hand and a bit battered, but they match, and a small heretofore unexamined part of Levi's psyche feels a warm swell of satisfaction at that. The dark brown cases are scratched in places, but Levi spent hours polishing and buffing the leather until it shone, and spent hours more polishing the brass buckles until they too gleamed.

In the dim light of the lamp, Levi stares at himself in the mirror. He looks ridiculous, he thinks. He understands why he shouldn't wear his uniform, but he has several outfits that are not military issue and any one of them should be good enough. Good enough in _his_ opinion, at least. Unfortunately, his opinion is not the one that matters.

He hears the toilet flush and the water run, and then Roy's steps, light and eager, across the floor of the living room. Roy comes into the bedroom. Though he is dressed very similar to Levi, somehow he manages to look not nearly as ridiculous as Levi feels. He doesn't, in fact, look ridiculous at all. He looks suave and sophisticated and gorgeous. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Levi says, though that is not entirely accurate. _As ready as I will ever be,_ would be more truthful, but then Roy will be upset and Levi does not want Roy to be upset. Not today of all days.

Roy crosses the room and pulls the curtain open. It is very early in the morning and the sun has not yet made its way above the horizon. The moon hangs low and heavy in the sky, and the stars are glistening like rain drops.

"We have a little time," Roy says after a moment of silent sky-gazing. "If you want some breakfast."

Levi makes a face. "I really don't. It's too early to eat."

"At least have some tea," Roy says. He turns from the window and comes over to where Levi is still standing in front of the mirror, fretting at his jacket.

Roy looks at him, his gaze hot and frankly appreciative. He swears indecently and quite explicitly under his breath and places his hands on Levi's shoulders, one on either side, thumbs kneading away at the tension in Levi's back.

"You look incredible," Roy breathes, staring into the mirror at the sight of Levi in the unfamiliar, ridiculous outfit. Then he dips his head down to nuzzle at the small strip of skin above Levi's collar.

Levi permits the nuzzling for a minute because he is weak, but then he pushes Roy away because he has some dignity; also, he doesn't want to mess up his clothing, and if he lets Roy have his way — have his way with Levi, that is, heh — then clothing will be the first casualty. "I'm sure we don't have enough time for _that."_

Roy hums his disapproval and nips once more at Levi's neck before straightening with a sigh. "You're probably right. A pity. We should have woken up earlier."

It's hardly accurate to say they got up at all when Levi doubts they managed to get four hours of sleep between the two of them, both too filled with nervous energy and anticipation. He ducks out from under Roy's possessive, distracting hands, leaving Roy standing in front of the mirror, where Roy takes the opportunity to examine his own reflection one more time. Roy frowns and makes a minute adjustment to his tie knot. It looks no different to Levi when Roy is done, but Roy seems satisfied.

In the living room, two small suitcases stand side by side near the dining room table. They are second-hand and a bit battered, but they match, and a small heretofore unexamined part of Levi's psyche feels a warm swell of satisfaction at that. The dark brown cases are scratched in places, but Levi spent hours polishing and buffing the leather until it shone, and spent hours more polishing the brass buckles until they too gleamed. Nobody would mistake the suitcases for new despite all the attention, but they no longer look like Moblit picked them up on one of his trips to the pawn stores in town. They look respectable.

Roy bustles past Levi into the kitchen. Even though Levi is almost always the one who makes the tea, because he is almost always awake before Roy, Levi can hear the water already boiling on the stove. Roy is perfectly competent at making tea, though Levi is a little concerned what blend Roy will choose. Left to his own devices, Roy lately has been favoring a strange fruity blend that Gerrit's sister Famke gave him for his birthday. The tea is pungent and a deep reddish orange, and Levi finds it a bit sweet for his tastes, though not so much that he can't drink it, if he must.

Fortunately, when Roy emerges from the kitchen, it appears he's settled for an ordinary black tea. "For the caffeine," he says, handing Levi a cup. To his own, he's already mixed in a generous splash of milk and a half a cube of sugar. Roy pulls out a chair from the dining set and settles into it, sipping at his own tea with a contented sigh, playing absently with one of his fountain pens still left on the table from the previous night's last-minute report-signing frenzy.

Around the room, Roy's things dominate. Levi's own few possessions are carefully displayed, but Roy's things have spread out to every other available surface. The risqué shot glasses and the spinning top and the porcelain golems have migrated from Levi's old side table to a rickety old china cabinet that is crammed into the corner behind the dining table. They had to move the table a meter or so out into the room to accommodate the new cabinet, but Roy had declared that "empty space is wasted space" and Levi couldn't argue when faced with Roy's blinding grin, especially since Roy and Moblit and Mike and Pieter had already lugged the cabinet into their quarters one afternoon when Levi had been trapped in a three-hour meeting with Hange and Erwin going over duty rosters.

Levi's old side table was not empty for long and now contains more of Roy's things, many of which are _fotografieren_ in wooden frames Roy transmuted out of scrap wood and broken pieces of glass. Because there are no _kameras_ here, the pictures are all from Amestris: Roy's not-sisters, his aunt, a larger version of the picture from his wallet with his team. The newest _foto_ is of Edward Elric and his wife and their infant daughter, apparently taken when they were at some place called a beach, sun high and yellow in the sky and sand beneath their feet, water a vast blue smear in the background. Edward looks nothing like how Levi imagined him: for one thing, he is smiling broadly; for another, he seems to have a functioning metal leg. _Automail_ , Roy had said without further clarification. Levi plans to find out what that is and if it can be made here for people who have lost limbs; arms in particular.

But the extra clutter in their quarters is not all attributable to Roy and his penchant for gathering knickknacks. Besides the shot glasses and the top and golems, the big wooden cabinet also contains an extra tea set: service for four, elegant porcelain bearing a thin gold-plate rim and decorated with delicate pink and yellow flowers. There is a matching tea pot, which came with a wooden handle that Roy has since replaced with one made of brass wire to complement the gold plating. Levi polishes the brass every week until it shines. The set sits on a sturdy wooden platter, painted the same cream as the porcelain, with pink and yellow accents to match the flowers on the tea set.

The small sketch that Isabel drew for Levi hangs on the wall over the second table; around it are four small paintings that Levi spotted one day in town and purchased on a whim. The artist is of no special talent but Levi likes the colors and Roy had hummed approvingly when Levi had brought them home. The knives Levi got from Kenny are displayed on a small rack that Roy had transmuted from some scrap metal; the knives themselves are good quality and Levi keeps the blades honed to killing sharpness. And nestled in among all the books of Roy's burgeoning collection are several that Levi purchased for himself, one a set of children's tales that he thinks his mother might have read to him when he was little; another a fantastical story of life across the ocean, with enormous flying craft like suspended balloons, fey sprites and talking beasts; the third a history of the Ackerman clan, a thin book of dubious authenticity that Levi has read half a dozen times already.

And then there are the things that are neither Roy's nor Levi's but belong to them both — an ornamental rug they purchased together, two potted plants that have somehow survived Roy's and Levi's combined efforts to ignore them to death, a metal ornamental hatstand that Moblit foisted on them when they weren't paying attention. Depending on the angle, the lighting, and Levi's mood, the hatstand is either charming or atrocious; it is in any event entirely superfluous, because Roy has only two hats and Levi has none, but Moblit had been undeterred and Roy indulgent.

"It's classy," Moblit insisted, ignoring Levi's protests that it most certainly was not, and somehow the hatstand had ended up nestled in the corner by the door. Roy dutifully hangs his two hats there, along with his scarves in colder weather, and Levi will admit if pressed that it's a convenient place to hang his uniform braces after he's cleaned them and they smell so strongly of soap and oil that Roy doesn't want them in the bedroom.

Roy's toy piano sits on the sideboard, another piece of furniture that had appeared unexpectedly one day, though this one came from the storeroom in a building Roy has been renovating. The cabinet contains a few bottles of alcohol, only one open at the moment, a bottle of red wine of middling quality that Levi actually likes quite a lot; when Roy pours himself a scant glass with dinner once or twice a week, Levi will join him. The bottle is corked and returned as soon as the glass is poured, and Roy never goes back for seconds. He never goes back for seconds for any kind of alcohol anymore, not even when the drink is the whiskey he prefers that Levi can hardly choke down.

"What are you thinking?" Roy says. He has been sitting quietly sipping at his tea while Levi muses. Only one lamp is lit and the gas is turned down low. The room is filled with shadows.

"Nothing much," Levi says, which is true. He finishes his own tea and places the cup carefully down in the saucer. Roy has pulled out Levi's old tea cups, the chipped set, the ones that remind Levi of his mother. They have many nicer cups now, but Levi still prefers these and it feels right to be drinking from them on this day in particular, though he's not exactly sure why.

Roy hums. "You sure you don't want anything to eat? We have a little bread. I could toast it. We'll have to throw it out otherwise. It won't keep."

It's still far too early for breakfast, and they probably have to leave in 15 minutes if they don't want to be late, but Levi hates throwing out food and Roy can make toast with a snap of his fingers. "All right," he says, and Roy rewards him with a smile.

Roy disappears back into the kitchen. Levi sits and waits, listening to the soft clatter of cutlery and plates, catching brief glimpses of Roy's charcoal gray suit flash in and out of sight as Roy moves around the kitchen.

"Just jam," Roy says, when he comes out, three slices of toast on a plate held in his left hand, the tea pot in his right. "We're out of butter." The plate of toast he places in the center of the table before he refills their tea. Levi gets a full cup, then there is only enough left for a half cup for Roy. Roy disappears back into the kitchen and returns with milk and sugar.

"Just jam is fine," Levi says, taking a sip of tea while Roy adds a splash of milk and a small sugar cube into his cup. The jam is a tangy orange-apricot marmalade that they are both enamored with; Levi would eat it straight from the jar if he could get away with it, but Roy keeps very close track of the level of jam remaining and so Levi restrains himself. Roy has spread it thicker than usual today, probably to use it up, and though Levi said he wasn't hungry he eats his entire piece in four bites. Roy laughs at him while he eats his own toast and gestures to the third slice as if to say it is all there for Levi, but Roy is just as fond of the jam as Levi, so Levi will only eat half of the slice and leave the rest for Roy. Because sharing food is a thing Levi has become comfortable with, with Roy.

They rarely have breakfast together out here, because Roy is by nature a slob no matter how much he tries to clean up after himself for Levi's sake, so the dining table almost always has a pile of stuff on it: leftover scrap paper from some project Roy is working on, torn out pages from one of Roy's million notebooks, lately drafts of the dictionary/grammar guide Roy has been putting together, with sprawling, scrawling treatises on the grammatical differences and similarities between their two languages. From Levi's perspective, as a somewhat tortured student of Amestrian, his own language is far easier; to his surprise, Roy agrees.

"Oh, the _deklination_ of the nouns is impossible," he once said, looking over Levi's shoulder as Levi suffered through a page of homework Roy had assigned him. He had frowned. "That is _dem_ ," he'd said, pointing. "Not _die."_

Levi had sighed and fixed it, despairing of his ability to ever get it right, but Roy had only said, "No one ever does. The Ishvalans are the worst. If they don't learn Amestrian as children they will never remember. They use _der_ for everything or just leave the article out completely."

Levi had _not_ had a fit about that, remembering Roy's indignation when Levi had suggested doing the exact same thing, but it had been a near thing, and only Roy's quick thinking and quicker conciliatory kissing had prevented disaster.

The pile of paper on the table is small at the moment, only a newspaper from earlier in the week, the vocabulary quiz Roy had given Levi last night (to his satisfaction, Levi had gotten all 20 words right; Roy had been very complimentary), and of course, the invitation, in a thick cream vellum addressed in an elegant, spidery script, to Roy and Levi both. Though Levi knows he is only an accessory, his name is there next to Roy's and that is almost as satisfying as seeing their two matching suitcases side by side at the door.

"I can't believe she's getting married," Roy says, following Levi's gaze.

"You mean you can't believe she's getting married to someone else." Levi thinks he might sound a little petty but can't help it. He knows he has no cause to be jealous, and for the most part he's not, but he has moments where he _is_ , intensely, and no amount of rationalization will soothe it.

Roy huffs, maybe a little exasperated, but probably only a little, because Levi is sure Roy secretly likes it when Levi gets possessive. "That's not it." Roy absently takes a bite of the last half piece of toast that Levi had subtly pushed across the table. "Riza is not in love with me. She never was. It's only"—Roy frowns—"I told you about her father."

"Yes." In bits and pieces, none of which were particularly flattering. That's now two pieces of shit that Levi knows of who were named Berthold. Coincidence?

"He … _ahm,_ what is _entwickelt? Ontwikkelde?_ " At Levi's nod, Roy continues, "He developed flame alchemy, but he didn't teach it to me. It was too dangerous, he thought. No one should know it."

Now Levi frowns. "What do you mean, he didn't teach you flame alchemy? He was your alchemy teacher."

Roy nods and eats the last bite of toast, then dabs up an extra blob of jam that's fallen onto the plate with his finger. "I studied many different types of alchemy with him. A little stone, a little earth, a lot of gas. He was probably the best gas alchemist in the world. He was, _ahm_ , _brillant_?"

" _Briljant_ ," Levi says.

"Brilliant, yes. Flame alchemy is harder than I make it seem. It is not just snap, fwoosh, you understand?"

Levi says yes even though he really has no idea. After all this time the mechanics of alchemy are still an impenetrable mystery to him. Roy has mostly given up trying to explain how it works, but Levi knows that for Roy to make flame involves doing a lot of math, chemistry and physics on the fly to account for differences in temperature, humidity and air currents, not to mention controlling the strength, heat and distance of the resulting flare.

Roy looks at him skeptically, probably because he knows damn well Levi is just humoring him. "Anyway," Roy says, "he would not teach it to me no matter how much I begged."

"He must have taught it to you eventually," Levi says, pointing out what seems to be an obvious conclusion. "Unless … " He peers at Roy suspiciously. "Did you steal it from him?" That's the sort of thing Levi would have done, not Roy. So far as Levi can tell, Roy has been more or less a law-abiding citizen his entire life and had joined the military to better help his country. This only proves to Levi what he's known all along: no matter how little Roy thinks of himself, he is at his core a far better man than Levi.

"No." Roy doesn't seem offended at the suggestion that he might have stolen the secret, perhaps because he's too distracted, although he might remember and be offended later in which case Levi will have to apologize. "He refused, and then he died." Roy stares off into space pensively. "Riza was the one who gave me the array."

Levi finds he has no words to answer that. _Riza_ had told Roy? _Riza_ had been the one responsible for Roy becoming the Flame Alchemist? For just a moment, Levi is incensed. So much death, so much suffering, all the blood Roy carries on his hands and in his heart; none of that would have happened if Riza had just kept her fucking mouth shut. But then Levi slams down on his anger, because what does he know about it really? Nothing but the little Roy has said, and that is undoubtedly only a fraction of a much larger truth.

Roy is watching him carefully, and lifts one shoulder. "You're right," he says, as if Levi had spoken out loud. "It is her fault in a way. But only in a very little way. She gave me the array, but I'm the one who twisted it and turned it into a weapon." He frowns grimly. "I turned myself into a weapon. I did exactly what her father was afraid of, and that is my fault alone. But she blames herself for all of it, even for the way I fell apart after the war." Roy sighs. "Before he died, her father told me to look after her. Instead, she was the one who had to look after me."

Some days, the weight of Roy's guilt makes it hard for him to get out of bed in the morning. Other days he's enraged and wants to burn everything in sight. Every once in a while, he gets a particular look in his eyes that makes Levi glad they keep the liquor cabinet locked and that Levi's the one with the key. Deep down where Levi can't touch, Roy still thinks of himself as a monster, no matter how many times he's proved himself to be the opposite.

For Roy, healing is still a work in progress. Levi guesses it will always be a work in progress. If Riza bears a fraction of the guilt for that, if she blames herself for all the deaths Roy's caused and all the pain he's suffered as a result, no wonder she was so obsessed with him. It's not because she was in love with him; it's because she felt responsible for him. Because she knew how broken Roy was and she felt like it was her fault.

Levi understands now how significant it was for Riza to hand the responsibility for Roy's safety to Levi, to trust Levi to do the job she wouldn't be around for. That she'd freed herself in the process was probably only an incidental side effect.

Whether Roy understands this is a separate question. He is not capable of being objective where Riza is concerned. Roy is not the only one who'd needed taking care of, after the war.

"You don't need her to look after you anymore," Levi says. "And she certainly doesn't need you to look after her."

"She never did," Roy says. Levi thinks he's not lying, just mistaken. "Her father didn't know her at all."

Levi hums. He is no expert on fathers, never having known his own and having only Kenny as a piss-poor substitute. "What about her fiancé?" He starts gathering up the plates and cups. They have to leave in five minutes.

"I hardly know him," Roy retorts, following Levi into the kitchen. The jam jar is on the counter, empty, with the knife sticking out of it; there is a small crust of bread in a pile of crumbs on the bread board. Levi dumps the crust and the crumbs into the trash, puts the jam jar in the sink, and picks up a towel while Roy starts washing the dishes.

Roy sounds a bit put out, and he washes out the jar with a bit more force than is necessary. Levi thinks Roy is perturbed that of all the men Riza could be marrying, she is marrying Gerhold Scholz, the man who has Roy's old position (at which, according to all reports, he is doing an entirely adequate job).

"You should be happy for her," Levi says. He dries the cleaned dishes as Roy hands them over and places them back in the cabinet.

"I am happy for her." Roy rinses out the tea kettle and hands it off. Levi dries it so there will be no spots, then places it back on the stove, checking to make sure there are no flames left on and that the fire in the oven is entirely out. "I suppose I never thought she would get married at all." He lets out a little incredulous huff of laughter. "I thought neither of us would ever find anyone who could tolerate us, but now Riza is getting married, and I—"

"—you are not getting married," Levi says firmly.

"Not yet," Roy says, his eyes twinkling and his good mood restored. Since Riza's wedding invitation arrived, Roy has been teasing Levi relentlessly, and one day when he fake-asks Levi to get married for the thousandth time, Levi is going to say yes just to shut Roy up. He wonders what Roy will do then.

Roy drops his head down to give Levi a quick peck on the lips, then he dries his hands off on a towel hastily and scans around the kitchen to see if anything is left out. "I'm going to check the windows," he says. "You told Moblit about the plants?"

"I told Moblit about the plants," Levi agrees. Levi has already checked the windows twice, but Roy won't be able to relax unless he checks them for himself. Levi likes that Roy has this one irrational compulsion, even if it hardly starts to balance the scales against the dozens of Levi's.

While Roy is checking the securely locked windows, Levi ducks into the bathroom, and then it is five minutes past the time they were supposed to leave and Roy is hustling them out the door and out of the building to the stables, where Moblit and Hannah are waiting, sitting side by side on an old bale of hay. They are sitting quite close together, Levi realizes, and Hannah appears to be thoroughly engrossed in whatever wild story Moblit is telling her. Her eyes are intent on his face, and there is a slight flush to her cheeks, and Moblit is unusually animated.

Well. Levi wonders exactly how out of the loop he has been.

Two horses wait, each with a double saddle. Roy and Levi each load their luggage on a horse, and then there is a bit of confusion about who is riding with whom. Levi had assumed he would ride with Roy and Moblit would ride with Hannah. This arrangement makes even more sense if Moblit and Hannah are dating or perhaps working their way towards it. But Roy wants to ride with Hannah to review some last-minute details about the infirmary renovation: the largest project they have yet handled, and the trickiest because the infirmary is in active use and will stay that way throughout the construction.

So, Levi ends up riding with Moblit. This is not an especially desirable state of affairs in Levi's opinion, but he sits up front in the saddle and Moblit swings gamely into the rear seat, wrapping his arms familiarly around Levi's waist. Levi grits his teeth and kicks the horse into motion, a few paces behind Roy and Hannah.

They exit the stable and quickly leave the base. The sun isn't up yet, but the first tentative streaks of pink and red are starting to splash across the horizon. There is just enough light to see. "Are you nervous?" Moblit asks into Levi's ear.

Levi makes a disgusted noise that hopefully conveys his low opinion of Moblit's intelligence for asking that question. Not that the question itself is necessarily stupid, just the asking of it.

"Yeah, yeah," Moblit says, apparently unwounded by the audible joust. "Captain Levi doesn't get nervous. But still. Are you nervous? I'd be nervous. It's another whole planet."

It's another whole reality, apparently, at least insofar as Edward and Alphonse Elric have been able to ascertain, but it's not an entirely unfamiliar one. Levi will have it far easier than Roy did when Roy had first arrived here. Levi knows where he's going and he won't be alone. He speaks the language with some minor degree of fluency and he has an emergency phrasebook if he gets lost and has to ask for directions or a bathroom. There's nothing to worry about. There's no reason to be nervous.

Levi is a little nervous.

"What if his aunt doesn't like me?" Levi asks, regretting it before the words have even left his mouth.

Moblit is silent for a few paces. They pass Opa's Bakery. A dim light illuminates the window and a few shadowy shapes are moving inside, preparing the ovens. Every other window is dark and the streets are deserted. It's quiet and peaceful. "Well, nobody actually likes you," Moblit finally says, a smirk clear in his voice. He pulls back just in time to avoid getting smashed in the nose by Levi's head.

"Fuck you," Levi says irritably.

Moblit laughs. "Oh, come on. They're going to love you. Roy is crazy about you. They're going to take one look at him mooning over you and love you also."

No one has ever taken one look at Levi and loved him. And Roy's aunt and his not-sisters have every reason to resent Levi for keeping Roy away from home. If Roy was not with Levi, Roy would have returned to Amestris when Riza, Alphonse and Havoc had come for him. For his part, Levi would resent anyone keeping Roy away, if Levi were the one Roy left behind.

"If I were you," Moblit says, "I'd be more worried about his military. They may force him to stay."

Levi twists around to give Moblit an irritated glance. Levi had mentioned the possibility to Roy, and Roy had actually laughed at him: a flat-out, hearty laugh right in Levi's face, which made Levi feel stupid for bringing it up but not really any less worried. "Roy says that isn't how things operate there."

Moblit raises his eyebrows high and rolls his eyes. "If you say so," he says, sounding doubtful. "I'd keep an eye on him, though."

Levi has every intention of keeping both eyes on Roy as much as is humanly possible, and not just because Roy looks amazing in his strange Amestrian outfit. He turns back around to make sure they are heading in the right direction, but there's no need; the horse is obediently following after Roy and Hannah.

"See if you can get a sword," Moblit advises after another minute. "Or, oh, maybe one of their guns! I think Havoc's family sells them. I bet he can get you a good deal."

How in the world does Moblit know these things? Yes, true; Moblit spent a reasonable amount of time with Havoc when he wasn't sniffing around after Riza, but it's not like Moblit spoke much Amestrian back then and Havoc certainly couldn't communicate with him in any other way. Levi remembers their conversations mostly consisting of very short words and a lot of expansive gestures; he can't imagine Havoc and Moblit were able to speak about any serious topics like their families. It would be a different story now, of course. Moblit has been obnoxiously kicking Levi's ass during their Amestrian language lessons — which doesn't bother Levi _at all_ because he can still kick Moblit's ass in every other way _._

Maybe Roy mentioned Havoc's family business once and Moblit just remembered it. That's probably it. Moblit has a very good memory for otherwise useless trivia.

They are close to the city wall now, and soon they will go outside the city, and it won't take very long from there to reach the safe spot where Roy comes every month to drop off letters and receive them in return. The trip is familiar. Levi almost always comes with Roy even though Roy goes in the earliest hours of the morning and there is no real risk of Titan activity, certainly nothing he couldn't handle on his own. Levi still feels better being there just in case something does go wrong; also, he likes the early morning expeditions for their own sake, for the chance to take the peaceful ride together and to see Roy be so quietly happy on the way there and back. Levi loves the way Roy lights up in the glow of the small array when it activates, and also Levi loves the look on Roy's face when the transmutation energy fades and there is a bundle on the ground, with letters, _fotos_ and books. One time the delivery had been a care package with poppy pastries, a scented candle and a lump of coal, all for some holiday unfamiliar to Levi; Roy had started laughing as soon as his eyes had landed on the coal and hadn't stopped the whole way home, and for once, Roy's joy at getting something from his friends hadn't made Levi jealous, just content.

The guards at the gate nod to Roy and don't even bother looking at the authorization form from Erwin. They just start raising the gate. Roy and Hannah are engrossed in deep conversation, Hannah nodding along as Roy speaks, no doubt specifying exactly what he wants done in his absence and warning that Hannah shouldn't let Gerrit goof off too much — which is rich, coming from Roy — and that also Pieter shouldn't let the craftsmen overcharge them for the cabinetry, as if that is a real concern, with Pieter.

The lifting mechanism grinds to a halt and Roy and Hannah start through the open gate.

"What if he doesn't want to come back," Levi blurts out, to his horror.

Moblit shifts in his seat and lets out a surprised huff of air. He doesn't tell Levi he's crazy, which Levi supposes he's grateful for; bad enough to have revealed his secret neuroses without being told how irrational they are.

"Honestly," Moblit says, after a minute, "I wouldn't want to come back if I were him. Amestris sounds pretty great."

Amestris does sound pretty great. No Titans, for one thing, and alchemy, and all those inventions Roy is always talking about: _telefons,_ and _kameras,_ and carriages that move without horses, and some kind of waterfall bath that Roy rhapsodizes about, and lamps that run on electricity instead of gas and can be turned on with a flick of a switch in the wall.

"But," Moblit says, "if he wanted to go back, he could have at any time. It's been over a year."

"I know," Levi says. It's been a year and almost another full season since the Amestrians came for Roy and left without him; it's now just a few months shy of three years since Roy first arrived.

They are through the gate now and the early morning fall air is crisp and chill. Levi pulls the collar of his strange coat closer around his neck.

Moblit is silent again. Then he says, thoughtfully, "You're just worried that once he actually gets there, he'll, what, change his mind about coming back here?"

"Maybe," Levi says miserably. He's not sure what he's worried about. Not precisely. He is happier than he's ever been in his life and he knows Roy is happy too. He knows Roy feels that in the Survey Corps he is useful and productive, maybe more useful and productive than he had been in Amestris. Levi knows that Roy believes his contributions to the war effort are valuable. Levi thinks that there is even a part of Roy that enjoys being the only alchemist in this world, one, because he is vain and two, because there is no risk here that anyone will be able to learn the secrets of flame alchemy from him.

But Levi remembers when Roy had first arrived, how miserable and homesick he'd been, how for months he'd wanted nothing except to go home. What if, upon finally returning to his family and friends, Roy can't bring himself to leave again?

"Maybe you shouldn't go," Moblit offers. "He'd definitely come back to you, if you stayed behind." He is shivering slightly and leans closer into Levi. Levi allows it because he is cold too.

There is a pause during which Moblit is presumably waiting for Levi to answer. Levi does not answer. Moblit shifts behind him again. "You did talk to him about it, right?"

Levi doesn't answer this either. They are already past the location for the monthly drops, but those portals are small, and need only be a little bit outside the city walls. Today they have another twenty minutes of riding, perhaps, until they reach the spot Roy and Alphonse have agreed on. The location is much closer than where Alphonse opened the portal last year, far enough away that the shock wave won't reach the city but close enough that Moblit and Hannah will be able to safely make their way back without fear of encountering Titans.

"For fuck's sake," Moblit says, exasperated. "I always knew you were an idiot. I just didn't realize how much of one. You're coming back, right?"

"Yes." Assuming Roy doesn't go crazy and refuse to open a portal for him, Levi will return, with or without Roy. The Titans aren't yet defeated, just so reduced in numbers that Erwin can spare Levi and Roy for a couple of weeks, scattered and weak enough that Levi feels he can leave for a short while to celebrate a special occasion.

"Then he's coming back. You're"— Moblit makes a disgusted noise—"I can't believe I'm saying this sappy shit. You're his home, you asshole. Now shut up and stop being stupid."

Levi feels his cheeks flare and he stiffens out of embarrassment. "I could kill you and nobody would ever find the body."

"Yeah, yeah, big words from the angry little man. You won't touch me. Roy's made you soft. It's kind of an open secret in the Corps." Moblit laughs. "Don't worry. We haven't let it out past the base. The rest of the city still thinks you're a stone-hearted goblin."

"Fuck you," Levi says, but his heart feels lighter and he kicks his horse forward to join Roy and Hannah.

Soon they reach the designated site. The sun is nearly at the horizon now, and Hannah keeps checking it nervously. Once the sun is up, the Titans will start to move. They have factored all this into their calculations, and Roy and Levi are confident that Moblit and Hannah can get safely back to the city in plenty of time before the portal's activation draws the Titans close.

"Leave as soon as we're gone," Roy says, dismounting and unfastening his suitcase. Levi does the same.

"We will," Hannah says, not insubordinately. "As soon as the portal closes so we know the transmutation worked."

Levi thinks Hannah and Moblit might as well take the horses and start back now; if the transmutation doesn't work then Roy and Levi will probably end up dead or in some other universe altogether. In that case, there will be nothing Hannah and Moblit or anyone else on this world can do. If Roy and Levi need saving, any efforts will have to be made by Alphonse and other Amestrian alchemists.

With a clap of his hands, Roy raises a stone wall from the ground. Hannah makes an involuntary noise and takes a step back. Levi supposes that Roy doesn't have too many opportunities to use his alchemy in the office; Hannah probably finds it disconcerting. Levi still does sometimes.

Roy takes out some chalk from a pocket and sketches an array on the wall, his movements deliberate and precise, but quick. He has spent hours drawing and redrawing the array, several times last night alone; Levi thinks that by this point Roy could probably do it with his eyes closed. Levi wonders why Roy is using a wall when Alphonse had drawn his array on the grass, but he's afraid that if he asks, Roy will subject him to another technical incomprehensible alchemy lecture; if there is one thing Levi is looking forward to in Amestris, it is that Roy will be able to have conversations with other alchemists and spare Levi altogether.

"It doesn't need to be perfect," Roy had said two nights ago, after he'd sketched it out a dozen times in a row. "I know what I need it to do. But if I don't make any mistakes, it will be one less thing to think about."

Levi still doesn't understand how alchemy works, and why sometimes a clap is enough and sometimes an array works better, but he trusts that Roy knows what he's doing. Even now, Roy still uses his gloves for flame.

In a few minutes, the array is complete. The circle's diameter is about as tall as Roy, and it is filled with dozens of symbols that look archaic and vaguely ominous to Levi. Roy had tried to explain what each symbol was for, but he still doesn't have good equivalents for some of the abstract alchemical terminology, and anyway, Levi never went to school and doesn't really understand math or chemistry or physics; he'd gotten lost well before Roy had started talking about restitching the quantum fabric. (At least, that's what Levi thinks Roy had said. It's possible Roy said something else entirely. It's also possible that Roy did say that, but what he meant was something else altogether. Levi is really looking forward to Roy being able to speak with other alchemists and perhaps get it out of his system for a little while.)

Roy takes a step back and checks his work, then nods to himself, satisfied. "All right," he says, stowing the chalk in his pocket. "It's now or never."

For a brief moment, Levi thinks about suggesting never, but he swallows the urge.

"Two weeks, right?" Moblit calls from his horse.

"Two weeks," Roy says. "Don't be late. Hannah, don't let—"

"—Gerrit sleep in the office," Hannah says, grinning. "I won't, boss, don't worry about it." She brings her horse around to Moblit's side and they ride off to a safe distance, though because neither of them is an alchemist or a Titan or an Ackerman, they won't feel the transmutation energy surge. 

When they stop, Moblit waves wildly and cups his hands around his mouth. "Have fun!" he yells.

Roy's grin grows impossibly wide as he nods and yells back, "We will." He picks up his suitcase in one hand, then looks at Levi. "Right?"

Levi nods. In truth, he isn't quite sure he will have fun, but Roy's eyes are so bright and his joy so apparent, Levi finds himself excited too. He picks up his own suitcase, gripping it tight with one sweaty palm as Roy touches a hand to the array, which flares to life with an impossibly bright surge of energy. It tingles, but not more than that. The strongest surge will come after the portal closes behind them, but they'll be in Amestris by then.

The energy surges and flows around them as the portal opens, an irregular rippling glowing pool of unearthly energy. Birds take off from nearby bushes, squawking, and the horses shy and whinny. Roy's hair flares out around his head in an electric halo, then settles down. He turns to Levi and smiles, holding out his free hand to Levi. "Ready?"

Levi takes a deep breath. The transmutation energy in the air seeps into his lungs like a drug. "Ready." He takes Roy's hand, and together they step through the portal and into another world.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Here we are. I can't believe it. I'm a little sad, actually. More than a little sad. Writing this story took two years, and the final editing and posting has been another few months of intense immersion in this universe. And then there was the art, which was new and interesting but exceptionally time-consuming. It's going to be hard to leave it all behind. What am I going to do with all my free time? (Probably go back to some of my other unfinished stories and see if I can move them along. There's this blind!Roy one I would really like to complete.)
> 
> Now -- about the epilogue. I'm sure some of you were hoping to see Roy and Levi in Amestris, and you might be a little disappointed that Ed didn't make an appearance. That was deliberate, because to me this was the natural conclusion. Tacking on a scene with Ed would have felt exactly like I was tacking on a scene with Ed. And while dropping a lone alchemist into the AoT universe is inherently interesting, putting Levi in Amestris is interesting primarily for the people he's going to meet -- Edward, obviously, but also Aunt Chris -- but otherwise, he's just a guy there. He's really strong and he's really fast but when he's not fighting Titans those characteristics aren't so notable, so I'm not sure what there is to build a plot around.
> 
> BUT.
> 
> That isn't to say I'm done with this universe, because I'm not. I just don't foresee another long novel (450 pages, OMG). But SapphireMusings is already requesting outtakes, and I definitely have ideas for short stories that would come after this story ends.
> 
> If any of you have any ideas, hit me with 'em! If I'm inspired, I may write them up. :)
> 
> Art: This is what I spent my birthday doing. Tweaking this epilogue and putting the art together. I think it's pretty. Also, I stole the portal background from an SGA still shot, which is an homage to another fandom in which I was heavily invested for a very long time.
> 
> A final word of thanks to SapphireMusings who has been my rock and cheerleader throughout this process. Thank you for putting up with me and my hundreds of excess commas. Love you!
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to comment and kudos! One last plea ... I so love to hear from you. If you've read this entire story and haven't yet commented, now is your chance! Even if you're reading this a month or six months or a year later, I'll still be happy to hear from you. :)
> 
> Levi: _En ze leefden nog lang en gelukkig._  
>  Roy: _Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute_
> 
> Maisie: And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
